There's No Place Like Home
by L J Groundwater
Summary: COMPLETE! Orders from above on both sides of the war mean trouble for our heroes. Could this mean the end of the operation? The final story in the trilogy that started with "Welcome to Stalag 13" and "Be It Ever So Humble." Please R&R.
1. What's Going On?

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

Colonel Robert Hogan watched the parachute glide like a dandelion seed effortlessly through the clear, cold night sky, and briefly allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant times. Training novices for the Royal Air Force seemed like a million years ago. But the US Army Air Corp flying ace could still remember the fearful hesitation followed by the whoops of triumph that young recruits shouted as they accomplished their first real leap from an aircraft, before grinning broadly at the American commander. Shifting in the underbrush that helped conceal him from any possible German patrols, Hogan smiled at the scenes as they replayed in front of his mind's eye; if a leap from an Allied bomber wasn't such a perilous undertaking, with the ever-present threat of being discovered, or killed by flak or parts of your own aircraft on the way down, a clear night like this could mean a dream jump, an experience to be savored by all the senses.

Hogan abruptly dropped his smile as reality forced its way back in, and he remembered his own bailout over Hamburg. He had lost the majority of his crew that day, in a vicious dogfight that from the very beginning was clearly aimed at ambushing his B-17, Goldilocks. His leap from the burning aircraft hadn't been graceful, like the one he was watching now; it had been dizzying, overwhelming, terrifying. His senses had been overloaded, and while he could force memories of the agony he had suffered from his injuries and his ejection into a sky bursting with enemy fire to the back of his mind, the tortured cries of the men under his command remained forever in his foremost thoughts.

_They were after **me**_, Hogan thought, squeezing his eyes shut at the horror of his own capture, still despairing at the taunting of the Nazis when they confronted him, interrogated him, beat him, in their attempts to get the Allied secrets from the American squadron commander that they knew he had—one of the Third Reich's "Most Wanted." But Hogan hadn't talked, and the Germans had let loose their fury on him, before finally transferring him to Stalag Luft 13, a Luftwaffe prison camp just outside Hammelburg. Then a familiar self-torture rang through his ears: _They might have made it back if they hadn't been flying with **me**_.

Drawing in a frigid, but calming, breath, Hogan deliberately collected his thoughts. _A lot of water's flowed under the bridge since then_, he reminded himself. _Now, more of our boys have a chance to get out of Germany._ The faces of the men Hogan worked with back at the prisoner of war camp flashed in his mind. Captives though they were, they were all now a tight sabotage and espionage unit, working out of Stalag 13 with Allied High Command in London and with the local Underground. And in the last three years, they'd retrieved downed flyers, rerouted escaped POWs from other prison camps, and ruined German military operations until they'd lost count. They were now one of the biggest secret threats to Nazi Germany in existence, and so far there was no end in sight. _Yep_, Hogan thought again, with some satisfaction, _things sure have changed._

Hogan's eyes followed the billowing silk as it descended into the trees about a hundred meters away. "Time to go to work," he muttered to himself, pushing the thoughts of the last thirty seconds from his crowded mind. He stretched as he prepared to go lead the downed flyer to the tunnel network under Stalag 13. _I wonder how old this one will be. Nineteen? Eighteen?_ He sighed as he anticipated the shell-shocked, terrified expression he would see on the baby-faced teenager who would no doubt be trying to remember everything he'd learned in training school—if he wasn't too busy saying every prayer he'd ever learned as a child to think about contributing to his own survival. No matter in the long run, Hogan considered—this was a routine mission; the poor kid would be in friendly hands soon enough. Then Hogan's men would get him out of Germany and back to his unit, just like all the others.

Hogan scanned the woods around him as he made his way to the approximate landing site. So far, no one around to obstruct the rescue. Good. Just up ahead, he saw the chute in the trees, entangled in some branches. The man in it was twisting and turning, struggling and gasping in his hurry to break free. Experience had taught Hogan to watch before approaching if there was no immediate threat: more than one panicky man had hurled a knife toward the unexpected rescuers nearby. Thankfully, almost all of them had been badly aimed. But still, there was no point in adding to the fear. When the man was on the ground, Hogan would make his presence known.

Finally, Hogan saw the man tumble from the web of rope and silk, then pull off his helmet and shake his head. Hogan grimaced. _Even younger than before. God, was I ever that green? Try to get the chute_, he urged silently. _They won't stop hunting if you don't hide it!_ As if he had heard Hogan, the airman gave a couple of tugs, but when the parachute didn't give, he gave up and looked to run for his life.

Hogan was about to cautiously reveal himself when sudden shouting and rifle fire froze him in place. He watched tensely as the young man spun around, wild-eyed, then took off in Hogan's direction. Hogan readied himself to draw the man quietly into the safety of the brush when three German soldiers appeared, weapons primed.

"_Halt! Anschlag!_" came the warning call.

The young man turned and raised his arms. Hogan's shoulders sagged; he'd never even seen or heard this patrol. He had done all the right things, but with this unexpected intrusion, they had become all the wrong things. Now, this mere boy would become a prisoner of war, and unless he escaped, he would spend the rest of the conflict cooling his heels in a prison camp, where the enemy would do its best to break his spirit, and take away any innocence that remained.

Hogan's operation had to remain secret. To reveal himself now would be to put everything—and everyone involved—in jeopardy. So Hogan bit his lip as he prepared himself to witness the capture; he could do nothing to help now.

The shock that followed nearly made Hogan scream in raw agony. As the youthful flyer started to stutter his name, rank, and serial number, another fresh-faced youth appeared, obviously another flyer who had been shot down with the one standing in front of the Germans. The boy froze when he realized what he had stumbled upon and also raised his arms. Then one of the Germans raised his rifle and said to the others, "_Vergesst nicht: Keine Gefangenen_." _No prisoners._ Hogan braced himself as he heard the click of the trigger, but could not make himself turn away as the soldier fired at point-blank range, sending the first boy hurtling through the air until his body hit the tree he had just dropped from with a sickening thud. Another German also fired, but his victim just dropped where he'd been cut down. The third German approached the first boy and prodded him with his weapon, shrugging when the boy didn't move. He reached down through the gear for the boy's dog tags, as someone did the same to the other youth. They nodded, satisfied that they had done their job. Then the man who had fired the first shot ordered, "_Verteilt euch! Wir müssen sichergehen, dass wir sie alle erwischen!_"

The order to spread out and continue searching for others made its way through the fog in Hogan's numb mind and spurred him into action. Breathing hard, and trembling more than from the cold, he stumbled away from the bush and ran as fast as he could away from the nauseating scene. Only when his shaking legs gave out did he stop and succumb to the need to be sick, as the looks of surprise and shock from the mere children he had watched be brutally killed flashed over and over before him, to join the other heartbreaking memories in his mind.

xx-xx-xx

"Holy cats, it's a bit late for this!"

Sergeant James Kinchloe pulled off the headsets he had used to listen to the radio message from Allied High Command in London and looked incredulously at his companions in the tunnel under Barracks Two.

"What is it, Kinch?" asked French Corporal Louis Le Beau, the radioman's bunkmate. He strained to see what the American had written down on his sheaf of paper. Scribbles. Nothing he could make any sense of.

Kinch shook his head. "London says to make sure no one goes out again until further notice. They say they've got word that there may be trouble brewing that they don't want us involved in."

"'They don't want us involved in'?" echoed Andrew Carter. The youthful American Sergeant scratched his head. "Well that's a change. I mean they usually want us to be in the middle of it. Or causing it!"

"Well, that doesn't worry me so much," Kinch said. "What worries me is that Colonel Hogan and Newkirk are both out tonight."

"What kind of trouble is it, Kinch?" asked Le Beau.

"They won't say yet. Just they don't want us caught in the middle. Must be pretty big."

Le Beau furrowed his brow. "Tonight of all nights for Pierre to go out to visit some _mademoiselle_," he muttered. "And _le_ Colonel out getting pilots!"

"Well at least we know the Colonel will be back soon—it's only a routine thing, Louis. We'll see him come laughing down here in about an hour. As for Newkirk—" Kinch stopped, thinking of the RAF Corporal who had niggled permission for a night on the town out of Hogan before the Colonel went out—"well, he can think on his feet. He'll be safe with some fine _fraulein_ and back before midnight—that was the Colonel's order, and he wouldn't dare be late."

Carter tried to offer some reassurance. "Boy, you're right about that, Kinch. I mean when the Colonel gives an order, it's an order, and he expects his orders to be obeyed. I mean, even if he's not here, he expects people to do what he told them to do. I mean I wouldn't be caught not doing what the Colonel said to do _tonight_, boy—he was pretty tired when he left; you know how he's been taking on extra duty because of your cold, Louis—and I mean, he didn't want anyone making any more work for him, because I bet he's going to just sack out when he gets back, and—"

"Carter!" Kinch said, trying to stop the flow that was Andrew Carter's mouth when he was on a roll. "The Colonel's due back before Newkirk. And I'm sure they'll both be fine."

They all nodded and headed upstairs, offering pats on the back and assurances. But despite the brave words, no one would be convinced till everyone was home in Stalag 13 safe and sound.

xx-xx-xx

Colonel Wilhelm Klink paced back and forth in his office long after evening roll call had confirmed that everyone was present and accounted for. Several times, he was tempted to pick up the phone and ring back General Burkhalter to reconfirm his superior's orders. But every time he put his hand on the receiver, a cold chill from deep inside himself made him draw back his hand and simply start pacing again.

Klink opened his window and, not bothering to brace himself against the cold air that greeted him, he looked across the compound that was Stalag Luft 13 at Barracks Two, where his senior Prisoner of War officer, Colonel Robert Hogan, was bunked out for the night. _Hogan, if it were up to me..._

Klink paused mid-thought. _If it were up to me, what? What would I really do?_ Klink thought of the countless times Hogan had come before him in this very office, asking for the impossible—a bowling alley, a yacht club, a pool party—rumba lessons! The most ridiculous and improbable things that any prisoner could expect from his captors. But there were other reasons for Hogan's visits as well: extra rations for his men; extra blankets when the cold weather didn't let up for days and the firewood didn't seem to make any difference. Hogan even volunteered his own services in exchange for some of these privileges, as he had pitched in to do Le Beau's cleaning duty earlier this week when Hogan explained that the Frenchman needed extra sleep, to fight off some flu making the rounds of the camp.

But Klink was conscious of the fact there was even more to it than _that_; during their somewhat regular chess games in the Kommandant's office, Klink had found Hogan to have quite a strategic mind, and although the American often pretended to be stupid about German military matters, Klink was more than aware that his own position at Stalag 13 had more than once been saved by Hogan's savvy... and cunning. And there was a genuineness about Hogan that spoke to Klink in a way that the Kommandant could not express, partly because he was not inclined toward shows of intimacy, and partly because expressing admiration for the enemy was a sure way of getting one's self put in front of the firing squad on a charge of treason.

So, if it were up to him... Klink closed the window and stared at the phone, debating whether to make the call or to just follow through on the order as he had always done, unquestioning, unerringly.

Unfeelingly.

Klink changed his way of thinking. _If it were up to Colonel Hogan, what would he do?_ He shook his head and looked up at the portrait of Adolf Hitler on the wall. _This time, mein Fuhrer... this time you have gone too far._

Klink turned back to his desk, put the telephone receiver on the blotter, and sat down, worried and grim. _Tomorrow, Hogan. The beginning of the end starts tomorrow._


	2. The Pressure Mounts

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

Colonel Hogan looked like a white, scared rabbit when he burst into the barracks from the tunnels some time later that night. Though he had tried his hardest to get his wild breathing—and his quickly pounding heart—under control before he faced his men, he had not really been successful, and when he emerged from underground, panting and sweating, eyes darting around constantly, the men under his command sat him at the table in the common room, trying to hide a new, mounting panic of their own.

"Carter, get a blanket," Kinch ordered. Carter nodded and grabbed a moth-eaten, slim cover from his own bunk. Kinch took it and tried to wrap it around Hogan's shoulders, while Le Beau put a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of Hogan.

Hogan shrugged away the blanket and the fussing, and quickly surveyed the room. "Where's Newkirk?" he asked, still moving ceaselessly. He shivered as though cold, then wiped his hand across his eyes and brow.

"He's still out, Colonel," Le Beau answered, looking worriedly toward Kinch. "He is due back within a couple of hours. Where are the pilots?"

Hogan stood up and ran his hand through his hair, still working off all the adrenalin that had rushed through his body earlier. He knew he had to be careful how he explained what he had seen, and right now he didn't have words to relay the events that wouldn't scare the men as much as he had been scared witnessing them. So he simply said, "They aren't coming." He stopped just long enough to give his men a look that they knew wasn't to be crossed or questioned. "Let me know when Newkirk gets back. Meanwhile no one leaves this camp without my say-so. Understand that? _No one_. And that's an order."

And he disappeared into his office, closing the door with a slam behind him.

The others looked at each other, bewildered. "Something went wrong," Kinch guessed.

"_Oui_. _Mon_ Colonel looked scared," Le Beau noticed.

"And now Colonel Hogan doesn't want us to go out either," Kinch said.

"Well, what about Newkirk?" Carter asked. "I mean, if there's trouble, shouldn't we go get him?"

"London says no one leaves camp."

"Who cares about London?" Le Beau sneered. "_They_ aren't here to see."

"Yeah, but if we went out, we'd also be crossing the Colonel. And I don't think he's in any mood to have his orders disobeyed."

Le Beau nodded acquiescence. "And I am in no mood to face his anger."

Carter looked glum. "I guess all we can do is wait till someone explains what's going on."

"Let's hope Newkirk struck out with his _fraulein_ tonight," Kinch said, looking toward Hogan's door. Experience told him that there was a lot of walking happening on the other side of that door. Pace to the desk, pace to the bunk. Pace to the desk, pace to the bunk. And this time, there was more than mere plotting brewing in Hogan's mind; there was fear. Kinch shuddered at the thought; it took a lot for Hogan to actually show his particularly negative emotions. What had happened tonight to throw him so? "I don't think the Colonel will calm down until he comes back."

xx-xx-xx

Peter Newkirk stopped for the fourth time since he had hit the woods tonight, clutching the tree nearest him with a lover's intensity. _Another bloody patrol; what's going on tonight?_ He knew Colonel Hogan had gone out to get the downed pilots, and had not insisted that Newkirk cancel his planned time away. But there were still many more patrols than normal; something must have gone wrong.

Newkirk shivered, missing the warmth of the small apartment he had been in only an hour earlier. Once in a rare while, Colonel Hogan gave in to Newkirk's wandering spirit and let him leave the camp for purely personal reasons; a four or five hour pass is how they preferred to think of it. Hogan knew that his men would take no unnecessary chances, and thought it might even be important that the men not stand out at other times by appearing to be complete strangers in Hammelburg when they went into town to meet contacts. Ruing the contrast between the young _fraulein_'s comfortable sofa and the rough, cold bark of the tree he was embracing, Newkirk almost wished the Colonel had denied him the pleasure of being in a young woman's arms for the evening. This kind of ending to the night was almost a cruelty.

_Is the gov'nor still out here, too?_ Newkirk wondered. He watched one of the German soldiers pass within a few feet of his hiding spot, and held his breath until it was safe to move again. _Only another half mile, mate, and you'll be safe at home. I swear, Lord, no more loose women for me—at least until the war is over, or these bleedin' patrols are called off for good!_

xx-xx-xx

The door to Hogan's office swung open, and the Colonel popped his head out. "Any sign of Newkirk?" he asked tersely, taking in the men sitting tensely at the table.

"Not yet, Colonel," Kinch answered. "But he's not due, sir. Don't worry yet; he's always on time."

Hogan didn't seem to take any comfort in those words. "Le Beau, head to the end of the tunnel. See if he's coming. But keep your head down. I don't want any problems tonight, got it?"

Le Beau glanced at the others. "_Oui_, Colonel." Hogan turned away to close his door and disappear into his worry chamber again. "Colonel—" Hogan stopped and looked at the Corporal. "What is happening, Colonel? Are you all right?"

Hogan remained unmoving for a moment, then visibly forced himself to relax. "Sorry, fellas," he said. "Bad night. I'll explain when I've had time to disassociate it all. I just want Newkirk back here."

Kinch nodded. "A lot of patrols out there, Colonel?"

"Let's just say they aren't your usual friendly neighbourhood Krauts," Hogan answered. His dark eyes changed as a scene replayed before him that only he could see. The others exchanged looks, and finally Le Beau banged the side of the bunk that revealed the entrance to the tunnel. "No," Hogan said, his eyes still troubled, "not your usual Krauts at all."

xx-xx-xx

"Newkirk, where have you been?"

The barracks was a flurry of activity in the time shortly after midnight, as Newkirk climbed back into the hut with an apologetic look on his face. "Caught outside," he answered. "Bloody patrols everywhere. Is the gov'nor mad at me?" he asked, glancing toward the closed door to Hogan's office.

"Are you kidding?" asked Le Beau, trying for the second time that night to get someone to accept his offer of warm coffee. "He has been out here every ten minutes asking if you are back—since ten thirty!"

Newkirk grabbed the coffee gratefully between his cold hands. "I wasn't due back until midnight!" He took a long, slow drink. "Where are the flyers?"

"Something must have gone wrong out there," Kinch said in a low voice. "The Colonel didn't come back with anyone, and he's been jumpy ever since. Won't talk."

Newkirk frowned. "Well, if was anything for him like it was for me, I can understand why."

Hogan's door opened suddenly, and the senior POW, looking composed and dressed once more in his regulation uniform and brown bomber jacket, came into the main room. Walking swiftly to Newkirk, he put his hand on the young man's shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. "Are you all right? How did you go getting back here?"

Newkirk accepted the look, registering some surprise inside—there didn't seem to be even a hint of a reprimand in Hogan's voice or demeanour. "Well, sir, it was a bit of an effort: there were goons everywhere; the woods were just crawling with them."

Hogan nodded grimly. "I know." He stood up straight and took in the room. "Okay, fellas, gather round. We've got a problem." The men pulled up closer to the common room table. Hogan put his foot up on a bench and took a deep breath before continuing. "When I went out tonight, I found one kid that was caught up in the trees. When he came down, I also found a German patrol waiting." The men grimaced collectively at the thought; it was far too easy to remember their own capture to think of someone else's objectively. "Another baby face suddenly walked in on the whole thing... and then the Krauts shot them both, close range."

For a moment, the others were too stunned to speak. Then Carter barely whispered, "Colonel, that's against the Geneva Convention, isn't it?"

"Do you see know of anyone out in the woods who could confirm that?" Hogan asked wearily. The others shook their heads slowly. "One of the Germans said something about taking no prisoners. Then they fanned out to look for the others. I had to take off or risk exposing us as well." Hogan stared hard at the table. "I don't mind telling you, it was a pretty sobering experience."

"Maybe that's what London was talking about," Kinch mused.

"London?" Hogan said.

"Yeah, Colonel. London radioed before you came back, saying they don't want anyone out of camp until further notice. They didn't give any reason. There didn't seem any point in mentioning it till now, since you made the same decision," Kinch added hastily. He waited for the fallout.

There wasn't any. "No," Hogan agreed, "I think I would have been just a little irritated with their sense of timing." He looked at Newkirk. "Looks like you and I broke the rules."

Newkirk shrugged. "So, same routine as always, sir."

"Yeah. Only this time I wish we had gone by the book!"

xx-xx-xx

Roll call the following morning was a quiet affair. Neither Hogan nor Klink had had much sleep, and the cold winter wind blowing around Barracks Two left no one in the mood for conversation. Curious though he was about the cause of Klink's unease in facing the assembly, Hogan nonetheless felt a slight sense of foreboding when he was summoned to the Kommandant's office after morning mess.

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, Hogan," Klink replied, turning to face the American. Hogan looked carefully at Klink's face. There were dark circles under his eyes, and grooves in his forehead that seemed to indicate that he had spent a long time with a furrowed brow recently, thinking of things perhaps none too pleasant. What he didn't know was that Klink was making the same appraisal of him. "Hogan," Klink began. He stopped and then sat down at his desk.

Hogan looked at the Kommandant, growing more concerned by the minute. "Something wrong, Colonel Klink?" he asked.

"Hogan," Klink began again, "Hogan..." He couldn't finish what he knew he had to say.

Hogan swallowed hard. _What the hell is going on? _"Yes, Kommandant?"

"Hogan, you need to escape."


	3. The Truth

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

Hogan laughed loud and long, relieved at Klink's joke at his expense. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Hogan relaxed. "That's very funny, Kommandant!" he exclaimed, still laughing. The German didn't seem to be joining in the fun, however, and Hogan's good humor abruptly ended. "Uh—Kommandant, you're—you're kidding, right?" Hogan laughed again, tentatively. "You don't really expect me to believe that you actually _want_ me to—" He faltered, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours uncertain about something. It was a feeling he didn't like. His arms dropped to his sides. "Colonel Klink?"

Klink seemed to consider before speaking. Finally he looked around the room like a paranoiac and whispered, "Hogan, are you quite certain you were not followed when you came here?"

Hogan frowned and became even more alarmed. "I didn't check; I don't usually have any reason to worry about spies when I come to your office, Kommandant," Hogan answered. _Except my own! God, I wish they were listening to **this**!_ "What's this all about?"

Klink raised a finger. "Just a minute," he said in a hushed voice. Klink got up and walked around his office, seeming to pounce on any item that was remotely out of place. He pulled flowers out of a vase, pulled glasses quickly off counter tops, and wildly opened the door in his office that led to his quarters. Nothing seemed to be askew. Then, leaving Hogan still very concerned and in the dark, Klink opened the door to his antechamber. "_Fraulein_ Hilda, would you please go down to the motor pool and tell Sergeant Schultz that I want him to supervise the maintenance at the guards' house? Then go tell Corporal Langenscheidt that he needs to recheck the supply hut before you put in your requisitions for the month."

Hogan heard a slightly bewildered, "_Jawohl, Herr _Kommandant," come from the other room, and noticed Klink didn't close the door to turn back to his senior POW until Hilda closed the door behind her on the way out.

Klink came back to stand almost nose to nose with Hogan. "Hogan, you need to get away from Stalag 13," Klink said in a whisper.

"I've been telling you that for years, sir." Hogan tried to laugh, but his heart was racing and he couldn't help but feel that this wasn't going to be a typical saboteurs' romp. "But you run this place with a fist of iron—no one's ever escaped from Stalag 13, Kommandant." _Is he trying to flush me out? This would certainly be a new approach._

"Then I will have to help you," Klink insisted. "You must get away, and it must be soon."

Hogan was troubled by Klink's apparent sincerity. If there was one thing he could always count on about Klink, it was that when the German was putting on an act, it was obvious. And this was no act. "I don't understand, Kommandant. What are you saying?"

"Hogan," Klink practically hissed, "I am telling you that—" Klink suddenly stopped. He drew away from Hogan as if the American was a cobra and crossed to relative safety behind his desk. He rubbed his hands together in front of his face, a nervous habit Hogan had grown accustomed to reading. Klink was anxious, and torn. "I don't know what I am telling you." He stopped kneading and tucked his fists under his arms, refusing to look at Hogan. "Forget I spoke."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. He couldn't let go of it now. There was something big, really big, brewing around Stalag 13, and if Klink was this upset it had to be important enough to affect the operation. "It's kind of hard to do that, Kommandant." Hogan tried to put on a mask of lightness. "Of course, you were just toying with me, right, sir? Trying to see if the Escape Committee's been digging any more tunnels?"

Klink turned almost eagerly to Hogan. "Have they?" he asked all in a rush.

Hogan was starting to feel a small thrill of panic deep down inside. "Uh—well, they always have a number of projects on the go, Colonel. But I think it's a bit cold for tunnels—ground's too hard to dig through. After all, we only have our hands, sir—and a few spoons we've taken from the mess hall."

Klink seemed disappointed. "Oh," he said. "I see."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Hogan requested.

"Granted," Klink said almost reluctantly.

"What's wrong, Kommandant?" Hogan asked. "You don't seem like your normal, warm self today." He moved in a bit closer. Klink seemed to be hesitant about being near the POW and moved away. Hogan persisted in his pursuit. "You seem tired. Distant."

Klink and Hogan ended up at the front of Klink's desk, right where Klink didn't want to be. Why couldn't Hogan leave well enough alone? "I've had a lot on my mind lately." Klink tried to sound dismissive. "You look like you could use a good night's sleep yourself, Colonel."

"Well, you know how it is, Kommandant. An officer's life—wine, women, and song till all hours of the night." Hogan paused for effect. "Of course, since I'm a prisoner, sir, it's more like water, pin-ups and badly played harmonica music. But one day that will change."

_Sooner than you think_, Klink thought. "I'm sure it will, Hogan."

"When General Patton comes roaring through that front gate, I'll have some real wine, real women, and real American music." Hogan continued goading the German. _Come on, Klink; **break**! What's really going on here?_

Klink waved Hogan's images away. _They're never going to become reality for you_, he thought. "Please, Hogan, not today."

"Begging your pardon, Kommandant, but it's _you_ who asked to see me this morning. And if I may say so, you seem more than a bit on edge. Can I help?"

Klink's eyes continued to look worried. Pained, thought Hogan suddenly. "Hogan," Klink said finally. He came so close Hogan could feel Klink's breath on his cheek. "Hogan, I meant what I said before. You have to get out. You don't have much time."

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked, struggling to maintain his composure. Had someone discovered the operation?

"General Burkhalter called yesterday. The Fuhrer has put out a general order. All enemy air corps officers are to be executed."

Hogan felt himself go cold. Automatically, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Klink answered. "There is to be no prison camp space for officers. That means—"

"That downed officers are shot on sight," Hogan finished. What he had seen last night suddenly flashed in his mind. "And anyone else who's caught in the crossfire." Desperate to deny what he was hearing, Hogan asked, "Is this order going to be rescinded? I mean, Mr. Nutty's come up with some pretty hare-brained schemes in the past, but somehow he's been talked out of them, right?"

"Not all of them," Klink said.

"What about enlisted men?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know. The order may be expanded. At the moment it's just officers. And that means you, Hogan." Klink felt his knees failing him, and he felt his way around his desk to sit down.

Hogan felt his head swimming and struggled to carry on a coherent conversation. "Why are you telling me this?" he managed. "You could be shot for treason."

Klink seemed terrified even to be speaking. "I know," he said. "But Hogan—" He cut himself off, unable to continue.

"How do I know this isn't just a trick?" Hogan pressed. He didn't know why he was trying; he could tell by Klink's appearance that this wasn't any ploy to catch him at something. "You could be telling me this so I try to escape, and _then_ I'm shot."

"Hogan!" Klink burst. Hogan paused, stunned. "The Gestapo will be here the day after tomorrow to make sure all orders are carried out. Unless the Fuhrer changes his mind before then, if you are here when they arrive you will not be here when they leave."

Klink's words drove straight through Hogan, and the American slipped almost bonelessly into the chair in front of the desk. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said.

"Deadly serious," Klink replied. "Hogan, you always seem to have a trick or two up your sleeve. You always seem to get yourself out of trouble... and sometimes me, too. This time, you're going to need every trick you have."

Hogan tried to hear Klink over the voices screaming in his head. "What's in it for you? Why are you warning me?"

Klink made a futile gesture with his hands. "It is murder, Colonel Hogan," he said in a whisper. He did not look at his prisoner. "We already have you; you cannot harm the Fatherland any more. And I love my country... but I cannot stand by and condone cold-blooded murder... not even for the Fuhrer." His voice was less than a whisper as he finished.

Hogan paused, still frozen by his emotions, then tried to laugh. "For a minute I thought you were going to say it was my sparkling personality," he said, not at all confident in his speech.

"There is that, too," Klink answered sincerely. He looked Hogan in the eye. Hogan was startled. "Though we are enemies, Colonel Hogan, I like to think that in different circumstances we might have been friends. And a friend would not let a friend face the firing squad."

Hogan swallowed, still fighting to assimilate everything he was hearing. His whole universe was changing in an instant, and it was dizzying. "So you're taking a chance on it yourself?" he said.

Klink shrugged. "I will be safe. General Burkhalter always thought you were clever enough to get out of here anyway. It will be the first real escape from Stalag 13. But no one needs to know I helped precipitate it—do they, Hogan?" Klink added suddenly.

Hogan shook his head, still woozy. "No," he whispered, "no, of course not." Hogan covered his face with his hands and took in a deep breath to recover from the shock of this morning's bombshell. Opening his eyes, he steeled himself and said more firmly than he felt, "Thank you for that information, Kommandant. I'll have to get back to you on it." With a nod toward the door, Hogan added, louder, "And if you'd consider those supplies for the men when Hilda puts in her requisition this month, I'm sure they'd appreciate it, sir."

Hogan walked toward the door on shaky legs, and then turned back to Klink, offered him a genuine salute, and left without even noticing if it had been returned.

xx-xx-xx

Kinch rushed to Hogan's side as the Colonel entered Barracks Two. "Colonel, are you all right?" Hogan nodded and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as Kinch led him to the table; he was sweating and shaking, something he was trying unsuccessfully to hide from his radioman. "You're white as a sheet!"

Hogan nodded again, trying to pull himself together. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, Kinch, sorry. Must have been something I ate."

Kinch wasn't fooled. "Or something that happened with Klink."

Hogan tried to bring his emotions under control. "I'll be okay in a minute, Kinch." Hogan's mind was racing as fast as his heart. If what Klink said was true, there was so much to consider before taking any action. And so little time to decide what those actions should be. Telling his men about this development in their prison lives before he'd had time to think things out would only lead to panic when he didn't have answers for them; he would have to go through it all first.

Alone.

With only his own terror for company.

Hogan's eyes reflected something that Kinch had rarely seen in the man until last night: fear. The tremors were unmistakable; the bravado was kidding neither of them. "Colonel," Kinch began, softly, "can we help?"

"I don't think so, Kinch," Hogan said shakily. "I just need to work some things out. I'll let you know when I know what we need to do." Hogan got up and headed unsteadily for his quarters.

"Colonel, is the operation in trouble?"

Hogan stopped and turned back to Kinch. "That would be one I could fix," he said ruefully.

Kinch felt a cold dread of his own inside, when he watched Hogan close the door behind him and let out a muffled cry of mental anguish that seemed to echo like gunfire through the quiet hut.


	4. The Rest of the Story

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

_I've got to get out of here!_

A panic unlike any he had ever felt before was coursing through Hogan's mind and body like a runaway train on a downhill track. Pacing was impossible; sitting still was even less possible. Hogan was twitching like a nervous cat and so unaccustomed to the unease that he started to question his own sanity.

_I have to escape!_ How many nails were in that loose board in the ceiling? Eight. Would have been more if he had had the chance to get to it after the second time it nearly came crashing down on his head after a fierce rainstorm.

_I'll just... go through the tunnel and get to the Underground, and they'll get me out, just like we've gotten everyone else out who's needed to go before me._ He took a good look at a knot in the plank near the bed—he'd never noticed before that it seemed to resemble a sparrow in flight. He wondered how that had formed.

_Yeah, right, then the Gestapo comes plowing through the camp and starts having a field day with my men... they discover the operation and everyone is shot._ One, two, three, four pencils sitting in the old tin can converted to a holder on his desk. One of them was strangely dull... Carter must have taken one to do some of that light sketching he had been caught out doing in secret last week. The embarrassment of the poor Sergeant when he had his talent unveiled!

_Just go... you've got to just go. No one would expect you to sit here and just wait to be shot in cold blood._ Hogan noticed his crush cap was starting to look worn along the brim. Time to ask the Red Cross to finagle another one for him. There was nothing he liked about looking sloppy in uniform, even if it wasn't dress uniform.

_Who would take over the operation? How would it run? And how long before Hitler's order gets extended? What about my men?_ The sky was turning a dark grey; rain would be coming this afternoon, and if it got cold enough tonight, snow would come next. Hogan thought of the two flyers he had seen shot down—were their bodies still out there, waiting for the snow to provide them with a coffin? Or had they been taken away? In either case, their families would be confronted with heartbreaking news soon enough.

Hogan pressed the balls of his hands fiercely into his eyes, his fists pushing against his forehead, the fire in his brain making him nearly gasp for air. He had to find a way to concentrate, to regain control of his traumatized mind and his panicked emotions.

_Two days._ Klink told him he had two days before the Gestapo showed up and made sure that Hogan wasn't taking up any more space in the barracks. It would take Hogan that long to bring himself under control, he thought fleetingly to himself. But in the meantime, he had to come up with a plan, if there was one. And fast.

xx-xx-xx

Darkness was settling in on the camp, and still Hogan had not come out of his quarters except when summoned for roll call. Kinch had told the others what he had witnessed, in low tones so as not to disturb their commanding officer, and since then the group had been on pins and needles, wondering if and when Hogan would reveal what was going on. It had not escaped any of their notice when Hogan had stood to be counted, that there was a distinct unease between him and Klink, and that Hogan had been uncharacteristically silent, with his eyes mainly studying the cold, cracked ground beneath his feet. When he did look at his men, it was with scrutinizing, almost fearful eyes that were now puffy red pools over black, heavy circles. Everyone had wanted to ask what was wrong, and how they could help. But no one dared. When Hogan was ready, he would tell.

But the wait was killing them.

Kinch suddenly appeared from below, holding a piece of paper that normally he would not hesitate to take directly to Hogan, even if he was asleep. But now, he suspected that Hogan was not only not asleep, but not necessarily able to cope with anything else to complicate what was appearing to be an abnormally complicated and confusing week already.

"Something going on, Kinch?" asked Newkirk, blowing a stream of smoke from one of the cigarettes that he hadn't stopped smoking since he last saw Hogan. _The gov'nor's mood can't be good for my health,_ Newkirk remembered thinking, as he lit his seventh one.

"More from London about their order not to leave the camp," he replied.

"Do tell," Newkirk said, as Carter and Le Beau gathered close.

"You know it has to go to the Colonel first," Kinch replied. They turned almost as one toward the closed door.

"Oh yes?" Le Beau said. "And you want to disturb him _now_?"

Kinch shrugged, uncertain. "You know he'd be more upset if we walked on egg shells around him. He doesn't like his mood to affect the operation."

"_Oui_, but there is something different about the way he is acting this time, Kinch. I have never seen him like this."

Carter nodded agreement as he sat down at the table. "Yeah. I mean, the Colonel's never missed a chance to have a go at Colonel Klink before. And he always looks him in the eye. But this afternoon he was just... there. But not there."

For once no one corrected Carter. This time he seemed right on target, even if it sounded wrong. "Still, it's the Colonel's orders that he hears what London has to say straight off." Kinch braced himself and headed for Hogan's door. "No matter what he's doing in there."

Kinch knocked softly on the door to Hogan's quarters as the others crowded behind him, trying to get a look inside the room. Hogan's soft order to enter was almost enough to send them all in the opposite direction, but Kinch, determined to do the right thing, opened the door.

Kinch's eyes had to adjust to the dimness as Hogan hadn't turned on his light. Blinking, he made out the still figure of his commanding officer sitting on the edge of his bunk, leaning with his elbows on his thighs, staring at nothing. "Colonel?" Kinch said, edging his way in, reluctantly.

"Yeah, Kinch." The voice was hollow, weary.

"Message from London, Colonel."

Hogan raised his head, a flicker of interest reflected in his eyes with help from the light from the common room. "What is it?"

"They said orders to stand down have been due to unconfirmed reports of a big shake-up at Hitler's headquarters. Rumors of serious recriminations for anyone caught outside a prison camp."

Hogan's mind went back to those two children he had watched be mowed down last night. "Yeah, well, you can tell them it's not unconfirmed."

"Also, they say they have confirmed the location of an oil refinery about ten miles from here that the Krauts have been using to supply troops, and they've also been keeping convoy trucks there that carry fuel and weapons heading for the Eastern front."

"And?"

"And... they want us to do something about it, sir. The convoy is supposed to be heading out tomorrow night at midnight."

Hogan snorted. "They want us to stand down, and they want us to go out?"

"They were just _explaining_ the stand down order," Kinch added. "They say now they want us to proceed with caution... immediately."

Hogan laughed bitterly. Kinch flinched. "Expendable. That's what we've always been, right?" Hogan stood up. "Okay, Kinch. Tell London we accept. No, make that, tell them _I_ accept. You fellas aren't going out till we know it's a bit safer than what I saw last night. I myself have nothing to lose."

He brushed past Kinch as the others raced for an inconspicuous post elsewhere in the barracks, and walked out into the compound.

Kinch looked at the others, bewildered. "'Nothing to lose'?"

"Something's going on, mate," Newkirk declared. "There's a big something eating at the gov'nor, and he's holding back."

"And another bit of happy news came in, too," Kinch added.

"What else could there be?" Carter asked.

"The Underground reports lots of patrols still in the area, and a couple of locals say they're sure they're being watched. They're going to have to close up shop until things cool off."

"Lovely," Le Beau nearly spat. "So we are to go out, knowing that the Krauts are all over the place, and have no back up? _Mon_ Colonel is right—they do not think of us as anything but rag dolls to throw away when they are done playing with us."

"Does the gov'nor know all this?" Newkirk asked.

Kinch shook his head. "But the way he's acting, there's more to this than meets the eye, and we won't know what it is till he cracks and tells us."

xx-xx-xx

"General Burkhalter's car has just pulled into camp," Le Beau announced the next morning, turning from the laundry he was carefully hanging on the makeshift clothes line. Hogan pulled away from the wall he was leaning against and without a word walked away. The others exchanged worried looks and burst back into the barracks to activate the listening device they had planted in Klink's office—connected to a coffee pot receiver they kept under Hogan's desk.

"...that you are going to make sure everything is done according to the Fuhrer's orders, Klink," Burkhalter was saying when they got it working.

Hogan's men raised their eyebrows. "Of course, General Burkhalter," Klink replied, sounding less than enthusiastic.

"What's the matter, Klink? I thought you would be more than happy to have Hogan out of your hair."

"Oh, I am, I _am_." Klink was so quick to respond that his answer was nearly missed as the men gasped at Burkhalter's revelation. Hogan leaving? "It's just that it is so sudden."

"You know how the Fuhrer is when he gets an idea," Burkhalter said. The aging General paced slowly in front of Klink's desk, nodding his head as he agreed with the speed of the command down the ranks. But if there was one thing Albert Burkhalter had learned as a member of Hitler's staff, it was not to hesitate for a second when the Fuhrer demanded action. Otherwise, he could be on the receiving end of one of the man's less than rational temper tantrums. "He wants to make sure this is done immediately. At all camps, and in all places."

"But General Burkhalter, the last time the Fuhrer suggested something like this, _Reichsmarshal_ Goering talked him out of it!" Klink reminded him. He added in a lower voice, "And it is against the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention."

"Do you think it is wise to remind the Fuhrer of such things, Klink?"

"No, _Herr_ General," Klink nearly whimpered. "It's just that... if we do this now, and then the Fuhrer changes his mind..."

Hogan's men were becoming more and more concerned as they listened to the exchange. None of what was being said made sense. But if Hogan was leaving, perhaps Klink had told him so, and Hogan had simply been unable to find a way to break the news to them? That, at least, would account for his mood.

"The Gestapo is coming in tomorrow, Klink. You are to give them your complete cooperation."

"Of course, _Herr_ General."

"You have, of course, kept this a secret?"

"Oh, _of course_, General Burkhalter. No one knows about this." A pause. "I wish _I_ didn't know about it."

"You have become too comfortable with Hogan, Klink. You need to be more detached. This order of the Fuhrer's in the end will perhaps be good for you. And it will free up some space in your camp—you are always telling me you need more room for your prisoners, since no one ever escapes." Burkhalter laughed.

Le Beau's stomach turned. "He is talking about taking _mon_ Colonel away from us, and he is _laughing_."

"Yes, sir," Klink labored to answer. "You know, General Burkhalter, I cannot help but think that in Colonel Hogan's case, execution is not the best answer—"

A collective gasp escaped the eavesdroppers' mouths. _What was that Klink just said?_

"...better if perhaps the Gestapo were to take Hogan back to Headquarters for more intensive questioning. You know he has always been considered such an important prisoner. And if he is somehow responsible for the activities around the camp, as Major Hochstetter says, then perhaps Hogan could be of more use if he—"

"Ach—Hochstetter," Burkhalter dismissed, pouring himself a glass of schnapps from Klink's decanter; "he is a small man with a big mouth. But he is Gestapo. And when he gets here tomorrow, I am sure he will be quite happy to do the work the Fuhrer has commanded of him."

_All too happy_, Klink thought. He sat at his desk. "General Burkhalter, Hogan has been quite vocal lately about escaping." _Maybe if I can prepare him for Hogan not being here when the time comes..._

The prisoners looked at each other, confused. This was anything but true; as a matter of fact, Hogan always made a point of assuring Klink that he would do anything not to ruin the Kommandant's perfect No Escape record. What was Klink trying to do?

"Escaping?" Burkhalter repeated. He turned to Klink. "Well, you have two choices, Klink. You can either put Hogan in the cooler to make sure he is here tomorrow, or you can let him escape—with the Fuhrer's order that there be no room in prison camps for enemy air corps officers, when he is caught the same goal will be achieved, yes? I expect you would be more anxious to put him in the cooler; that way your No Escapes record will remain unbroken."

Klink swallowed the bad taste that rose into his throat. _My record is nothing next to an innocent human life_. "The other prisoners will be very upset when this happens," he managed to say.

"That is what you have guards for. If the prisoners are out of control, your guards can control them... with their rifles. Where is Hogan now?"

"I expect he is in his quarters, General."

"Does he suspect anything?"

"I don't think so, _Herr_ General."

"You have not faced Hogan with that same sour face you are showing me, have you? That would be a red flag to a bull like Hogan, Klink."

"No, _Herr _General. I think it was just something I ate."

At that moment the door to Barracks Two flew open. Hogan's men quickly disassembled the coffee pot and shoved it under Hogan's desk. Hogan walked in just as they were finishing. "Anything good on the pot?" he asked.

No one answered. Hogan looked from one man to the other, registering their pale faces, their traumatized eyes, their pity. They knew. "So, you know what's going on," he said, walking back out to the common room.

The men followed. "You've got to leave, Colonel," Le Beau said, the first to dare speak.

"'E's right, sir, you can't stay with an order like that 'anging over your 'ead. Come tomorrow, Hochstetter'll be here to do his worst," Newkirk agreed.

Hogan paused at the stove, holding a cup but unable to remember what to do with it.

"Klink told Burkhalter he didn't tell you. How did you find out?" Kinch asked.

"Klink told me," Hogan said, disturbed by the weakness of his own voice. He carried his empty cup to the table. "He couldn't keep it to himself." He tried to force a grin onto his face. "You know how I always charm him." The grin disappeared as he played ineffectively with the cup. "He practically begged me to escape."

"For once I agree with the filthy Boche," Le Beau admitted.

"Louis's right, boy—I mean sir!" Carter said. "Otherwise the Gestapo's gonna—"

"Carter!" Kinch chastised the Sergeant into silence. He turned to Hogan. "Colonel, we'll get you out through the tunnel."

Hogan shook his head. "There'll be Krauts all over the woods. With that order out it'd be one sighting and bang: I'm dead." Hogan stood up. "We still have a mission to complete, right? That oil refinery and those trucks are going to drag this war out and get more of our boys killed. Hochstetter's not coming till tomorrow; that gives me a whole day before I have to panic, right?"

"Right," Kinch said, trying to support Hogan's attempt at lightness—the Colonel's automatic defense against what must be a feeling of pure panic. "That's plenty of time."

"I might get the Underground to give me a hand; I don't want you fellas involved while all this is going on. The 'no prisoners' order doesn't include enlisted men yet, but what happened last night makes me wonder if anyone will really take notice of that."

"No go, Colonel," Kinch said regretfully. Hogan looked at him questioningly. "The Underground says they're being watched like hawks at the moment; they're shutting down till the Krauts ease up."

Hogan shook his head and sighed heavily. "Well, that's that, then." Hogan swirled imaginary contents in his empty cup and headed toward his room. "Guess I'm on my own. London always said they'd deny knowledge of our activities if we were caught. No one takes a chance on this one but me. And that's an order."


	5. Working Out

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

"_Unph_." Hogan grunted from the exertion as he lifted and lowered the barbells in the camp's _erholungshalle_, or recovery area, a hut fitted out for prisoners and camp personnel who needed rehabilitation after an illness or injury. He had put more weight on the barbells than he could normally handle with ease, but he wanted to have to concentrate on something unimportant, hoping the work would help disperse some of the almost electric energy flowing through his veins, and clear his mind so he could think logically in the coming hours. But it wasn't working; his tank tee shirt was nearly soaked through, and his face was glistening with sweat, but all he could think about was one thing: he was marked for death, and he was scared.

He knew that if he did nothing, he would simply be shot. If he escaped, then the Germans would be out looking for him, and if he was caught he would be shot. If he waited in the tunnel for a chance to wend his way through the Underground, then anyone he was caught with outside the camp would be shot with him. If he just plain hid, then he might not be shot, but he would still die—inside, while he watched the men under his command struggle with the takeover of the camp by Gestapo men already disinclined to be less than kind or humane to the enemy. The choices were less than heartening.

And then there was the question of the assignment from London. Allied High Command obviously knew there were problems; they didn't want anyone to go out—anyone but Hogan and his men. And while the order to leave no prison space for downed flyers only applied to officers at the moment, Hogan was not confident that all enemy soldiers would abide by that distinction—something made all too obvious to him the other night.

His first instinct was self-preservation: get out, forget the mission, and take his chances, carefully. But every time he concocted a plan that got him as far as a safe passage to England, he thought of all the times they had beaten the odds before, pulling off what was touted to be the impossible, in order to shorten the war a bit, to tip the odds in favor of the good guys, to help save God knew how many innocent lives. If they let that oil refinery go, and let those trucks bring fuel to the Russian front, then Hogan might live, but thousands of others would die. And since his chance of escaping unscathed seemed slim at best anyway, the least he could do was bring down a few Krauts with him.

_But it's not fair!_ his mind protested, screaming desperately. _I could almost accept being shot for being a spy and a saboteur—but not for this! Nor for simply being what they made me in the first place: a prisoner of war! _Hogan drew the barbells up till they were even with his shoulders. He felt himself sweating more heavily as his muscles strained to support the weight. Staring only at the opposite wall, he felt his arms trembling, and when he felt as though he could take no more, he held for another fifteen seconds, before finally dropping the barbells on the floor mat with a loud exhalation of air.

He stood for a moment to catch his breath, hands on his knees, eyes closed, head almost spinning, and when he opened his eyes he saw a pair of boots waiting beside him. Following the path up the legs, his eyes finally alit on Newkirk, who was simply watching him, eyes troubled, hands in pockets. Hogan straightened and headed for a bucket of water nearby. He picked up the ladle and took in a long drink, then used the towel he had placed next to the bucket to wipe his face before speaking. "What can I do for you?" Hogan asked, not really wanting to talk, but thinking wryly he might not get many more chances. He rubbed his hair briefly and hung the towel around his neck. He didn't look at the Corporal.

"We have an idea, Colonel 'Ogan, sir," Newkirk started.

Hogan sighed. It was going to be twenty four hours of plans. Plans that were all well-meaning, but which he was not in a frame of mind to dissect, or even to comprehend. "I've thought of a few plans, too," Hogan said, staring at the water. "But they all end the same way," he added almost bitterly. _Snap out of it! _he chastised himself. _You don't need to scare them to death, too._

Newkirk looked around the room, then decided to trust their regular checks for hidden listening devices and said, "We want to hide you in the tunnel for awhile, sir. Just till things settle down."

Hogan paused. Newkirk's voice had been uncharacteristically gentle when he made the proposal. Soothing and calming. Hogan grimaced as he realized he had not been able to hide his feelings from his men as this crisis faced them—the one time when they would need him to be calmer than he had ever been before. Now, they were trying to pacify him, instead of the other way around. "And how long do you think that would be?" Hogan asked quietly.

"Well, like Burkhalter said, ol' Scramble Brains has made this kind of decision before, but he's always been convinced to change 'is mind," Newkirk offered.

"And in the meantime, the Gestapo tear this place apart looking for any sign of me, trek through the woods to find any saboteurs they can—and probably come up with a nice handful of Underground agents—and then take over the camp when they consider Klink's failure, because the timing of my getaway would seem just a trifle too suspicious, no matter _how _safe he thinks he is." Hogan looked at Newkirk. The Corporal could see only weariness in his commanding officer, and a look that was all too close to resignation, which distressed him. Hogan never gave up. _Never!_

Hogan understood Newkirk's hesitation. "Sorry, Newkirk," he said. "I know you fellas are trying to help. I'm sure the tunnel will come in handy. I just need to be careful about when. If I use it too soon, I get everyone in the dog house, or worse. If I use it too late... well, same trouble." He shook his head. "And then there's London."

"Ruddy London," Newkirk spat out. "Kinch called them, you know, gov'nor. Gave them the specifics of that shake up they were worried about." Hogan listened. "They told us we had to protect Papa Bear at all costs." Hogan nearly smiled, but something in Newkirk's tone told him that wasn't all London wanted. "Then they said they wanted to make sure we got to the oil refinery before the trucks headed out tonight."

Hogan nodded and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Now for my next magic trick—!" Hogan announced sarcastically. He held out his arms. "Nothing up my sleeves—hey, look at that, no sleeves at all!" He let his arms drop by his sides.

Newkirk looked on, helpless. If all the magic he had learned growing up on the streets of London could have helped now, he would have done every trick in the book. But as it was, nothing he had learned could help him face the almost certain loss of his commanding officer, and, if he admitted it to himself, a man he considered a close friend.

"Newkirk," Hogan declared, "I have a lot to do tonight, and precious little time to do it. Go back and get Carter to prepare some of his finest for me, will you? Something nice to go in those trucks. And some hand grenades. And ask Le Beau to make me up something special for dinner; I'm starting to feel peckish. Nothing like a good Last Supper to tide you over till..." He let his sentence trail off.

Newkirk answered softly, "Yes, Colonel."

Hogan cleared his throat. "Come on; I'm not going down without a fight. Let's just make sure that if I _do_ have to go that it's in a blaze of glory."

"Right, gov'nor," Newkirk said, his voice oddly strangled and his eyes unusually wet.

"And right now, I'd better have a shower. Otherwise, you'll put me in the tunnel before I'm due."

xx-xx-xx

"Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant would like to see you in his office." Bulky Sergeant of the Guard Hans Schultz eyed the meal being consumed at the common room table. Usually, dinner in the barracks was a lively affair, even for men held prisoner by the enemy. But tonight, something was different, and Schultz could sense it—but his first instinct was to check and make sure it didn't have anything to do with the quality of the food before them.

"Not now, Schultz." Hogan waved him away without looking at him. "I need to be with my men." He looked at his almost untouched meal, so carefully prepared by Corporal Le Beau, and wished with all his heart he could eat it so the Frenchman would feel comforted. But he couldn't.

"Please, Colonel Hogan—the Kommandant, he is very anxious. He had a big meeting with General Burkhalter today, and you know how the big shots always make him nervous."

Hogan's men exchanged glances. Hogan avoided their eyes. "Well, Burkhalter has that effect on everybody, not just Klink. What did they talk about, Schultz?" Hogan asked, trying to gauge how much the guard knew.

"The Kommandant and the General did _not_ take me into their confidence," Schultz said, sounding relieved. Hogan interpreted the tone of voice as portraying genuine ignorance of the situation.

"So where did ol' Kraut-face go?" asked Newkirk irreverently.

Schultz cringed at the lack of respect but did not reprimand the Englishman. "The General had said he had some important business to attend to at the camp and was going to stay the night—" Hogan raised his eyebrows. "But Kommandant Klink convinced him that he would be more comfortable staying at a hotel in Hammelburg, since our VIP quarters are being refurbished, and he should come back next week."

"Renovations, eh, Schultz?" Kinch asked.

Schultz gave a confused look. "I do not understand why he said such a thing, Sergeant Kinchloe. There is no work being done in the VIP quarters. That was done two weeks ago." He turned to Hogan. "But, Colonel Klink asked me to tell him when the General left the camp, and when I did, he sent me to get you. So _please_, Colonel Hogan. Come nicely, _please_ don't make me go back to the Kommandant's office without you."

Hogan sighed and stood up. "Okay, Schultz, okay. Just for you, though." He looked at his plate. "I suppose you haven't eaten yet," he surmised.

Schultz gazed lovingly at the food left to go cold. "_Nein_," he said breathlessly.

Le Beau was skeptical. "You? Miss evening mess? I don't think so, Schultzie," he scoffed.

Schultz twitched his moustache. "Well, strictly speaking, I did not miss dinner, Cockroach... it's just that they never seem to give us enough, and I stay hungry."

"Here," said Hogan, picking up his plate and pushing it at the guard. "Have mine." He looked apologetically at Le Beau. "No sense in having it go to waste."

Le Beau nodded, disheartened. "_Oui_. I understand, Colonel."

Picking at the delights on the plate, Schultz gallantly held the barracks door open for Hogan, who zipped up his coat, grabbed his crush cap, and walked out, with as little confidence as he had when he first arrived at Stalag 13 three years ago.

xx-xx-xx

"Colonel Hogan, why are you still here?"

Klink's words came out more as a plea than as a question. When Hogan entered the office, Klink had immediately shut the door and ushered the POW to a chair very close to his desk. Then he had sat down and nervously tapped the blotter on his desk before finally stating the reason for this evening summons.

Hogan crossed his arms, angry. "Where do you expect me to go?" he asked.

"Anywhere, Hogan, _anywhere_! I told you what was going to happen here. General Burkhalter has already been here today—"

"Thought I noticed a distinct odor in the air," Hogan sneered.

"Hogan," Klink nearly hissed, "this is no time for flippancy. General Burkhalter was going to stay but I convinced him to stay in Hammelburg for the night so you have a chance to get out. The Gestapo is coming in tomorrow. They will take over this camp and do as they please."

"Then it's business as usual," Hogan said. Klink started trembling but didn't speak. "Look, Kommandant," Hogan said, leaning forward, "Let's face it. You and I both know that the Gestapo has always done whatever it wants here. They run roughshod over you any time they like. And what's ol' Iron Eagle do? Nothing—more like lead than iron." Hogan sat back, still tense. "Whether I'm here or ten miles outside the wire, they're going to find me."

"Then don't be there," Klink said, too upset to hear the accusations Hogan had made. _Why was Hogan hanging around?_

"What?"

"Don't be ten miles outside the wire. Be farther away than that. Go away, go far, far away, so when they come they have no hope of finding you at all!"

"And what happens to my men, Kommandant? I go, the Gestapo gets cranky, they take over the camp, push you out, and start interrogating my men, and there goes the neighborhood! Never mind that they don't know anything."

"Hogan, you cannot stay here. The Fuhrer is showing no indication of changing his mind! He was so angry after the mass escape at Stalag 3 in March that he wanted to shoot everyone! _Reichsmarshal_ Goering had to convince him that shooting all those men was unwise. I don't know if he will be able to do the same again."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure if the head of the Luftwaffe is trying to stop a massacre, it's not because it's the humane thing to do," he snorted. Hogan stood up. "Look, Kommandant, I have work to do tonight. I'll be happy to take you up on your offer tomorrow after roll call. It'll be safer for my men, _and_ a good alibi for you."

"But you don't understand, Hogan; Major Hochstetter will be here at noon—tomorrow will be too late!"

Hogan thought of the refinery and the trucks that were probably loading up to travel as they spoke. "You're right, Kommandant. Tomorrow _will_ be too late. See you in the morning. And don't you worry; I'm not planning on volunteering to be put in front of a firing squad. I'll think of something to suit everyone." _I hope._


	6. All Through the Night

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

"This your best stuff, Carter?" Hogan asked, taking a handful of explosives from the Sergeant and putting them into a pack.

Carter nodded, gulping, and kept handing Hogan the equipment he needed. He never said a word, just watched Hogan as the Colonel moved from one place to another. Hogan tried to ignore the puppy eyes and concentrate on the night ahead. He focused more than necessary on the actual packing of the bag, frowning as one explosive was fussy about sharing space. Hogan was uncomfortable being the subject of such intense scrutiny, and dealt with it by making constant small talk, and by avoiding stillness.

"This is how it's gonna go," Hogan said. "All you have to do is sit and wait. I'm going to go to the refinery, put some dynamite under those trucks, throw a few grenades, and get out of there. Hochstetter's not due till lunch time tomorrow. So in the morning I'll show up for roll call, play it nice and calm. That'll give Klink some witnesses to my being here, and it just might convince the Gestapo that there's nothing suspicious about the timing of my convenient disappearing act. That way, if it's at all possible, this unit can continue to operate."

Hogan took a chance on facing his men. All he saw were four pairs of anxious eyes. He looked away again and moved the pack toward the bunk that led to the tunnel as he added, "Just in case something happens between now and then—well, here are my orders for you for after I leave. Until a replacement shows up, and that shouldn't be too far off, Kinch, Newkirk—I want you two to make as many decisions as possible together. I need Kinch's _cool_-headedness, and Newkirk's _hot_-headedness. You need both to make a unit like this one work. Decisions made solely on logic won't work... but neither will those based fully on emotion. If you can't agree, you go Kinch's way." Newkirk and Kinch looked at each other, distressed at being appointed before Hogan had even left, and yet knowing it had to be done this way. Newkirk lowered his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and mumbling his understanding, while Kinch just nodded, then bowed his head low and stared at the floor.

Hogan looked at Le Beau and Carter. "I'll expect you two to give them your full support. And that you'll get everyone else to do the same." Carter and Le Beau nodded. "Whoever they send obviously isn't going to be an officer. But no matter _what_ rank he's got, I expect you all to do as he says. I don't want any bad reports."

The group nodded numbly. The same words Hogan bit back were registering in all their minds: _If you're alive to get reports at all. _Hogan's men couldn't believe they were quite possibly getting their final commands from the man whom they had come to rely on over the last three years. Continue with someone else? It was impossible! And yet out of respect and acceptance of Hogan, they could only agree to whatever he asked of them.

Hogan turned to Carter. "Carter, your expertise is explosives. No one can beat you at that. Whatever Kinch and Newkirk decide to do—you make the decisions on how it gets blown up. Right?"

Carter could barely swallow. He didn't _want_ to make decisions. Not because he was afraid to, but because it would mean Colonel Hogan wasn't there to guide them himself. He was ready to blurt all this out, but somehow his mouth wouldn't work for more than a few words, and he felt like he was being strangled. "Right, Colonel," he choked.

"Le Beau," Hogan began. He looked at the small Frenchman, whose eyes looked like two dark pools, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.

Le Beau visibly straightened and swallowed hard, determined to be strong. "_Oui_, Colonel," he said, cursing the slight tremor in his voice.

"Louis, it's your job to make sure they _all_ stay in line—of the group of us, you're probably the one who sees what's _really_ going on in people's minds the most clearly. Use that vision for good, not evil. Okay?"

Louis practically whispered his answer, fighting to stop his bottom lip from trembling. "_D'accord, mon_ Colonel."

Hogan punched the side of the bunk to release the ladder to the tunnel. "I'll see you later tonight." He double-checked his watch, glanced at his dark clothing, picked up the bag, and was gone.

xx-xx-xx

"London said no one is to go out."

"Bloody _London_ told us to look after the refinery...and to protect Papa Bear at all costs!"

"But the Colonel's orders were to stay behind, too. And, boy, you know how mad he gets if we don't follow orders."

"_Zut alors!_ Of all nights, he should not be alone tonight—think about what is coming for him; we should not have let him go on his own!"

"I say we tag along," Newkirk insisted.

"_Oui_, me too," Le Beau agreed.

Kinch furrowed his brow. He knew he was right. He knew they were _all_ right. London's orders had been contradictory, but Hogan's had been quite clear: no one but the Colonel was to go to the refinery. Kinch wanted desperately to bend to Hogan's wishes. But, he reasoned, after tomorrow he would never have the chance to back up his commanding officer again. And if anything happened tonight, and they hadn't tried to help, they would have to live with that lack of action forever.

Still, he closed his eyes as he tried not to choke on his own words. "If we disobey Colonel Hogan's orders now, after all this time, he may think we're disregarding him before he's even gone."

"And if we do not follow him, he may think we are _abandoning_ him before he is gone," Le Beau countered.

Newkirk blew out a last puff of smoke before crushing out his cigarette on the floor with his foot. "So, what's it to be, mates?"

xx-xx-xx

"Carter, do me a favor and get your elbow _out of my ear_."

"Sorry about that, Newkirk—but you said we have to stay close together."

"Blimey, any closer and you'll be inside me; now _shove off_!"

Louis Le Beau approached and gave them a stern look in the darkness. "Quiet, both of you. Do you want to be seen?"

"Sorry, Louis, it's just that Kinch said we had to make sure no one saw us—"

"Quiet, you guys." Kinch's voice carried over them all. He pointed in the distance. "There's the Colonel over there."

Newkirk squinted and looked in the direction of Kinch's finger. Sure enough, there, about thirty yards away, was Colonel Hogan, crouched low in the blackness, slipping silently out from underneath a truck just outside the gates surrounding the oil refinery he had been ordered to target. But as quickly has he had become visible, he was invisible again, something Newkirk both cursed and blessed. How were they supposed to keep an eye on someone they couldn't see? "Wish we could tell 'im we're here," he muttered.

"The compromise was we keep watch, but we only intervene if there's trouble," Le Beau reminded him.

"Well 'ow can we tell if there's trouble if we can't even _see_ 'im?"

"Have you ever seen a Kraut react quietly to having his throat slit?" Le Beau said acidly.

"Enough, you guys," Kinch said. "Looks like Colonel Hogan is nearly done. Let's spread out and make sure the path home is clear. If he gets back before we do, our measly non-com stripes are going to be gone."

"I'll go this way," Carter said, heading west, and straight into Newkirk.

Newkirk gave Carter a slight push in the opposite direction. "That way toward home, mate," he said with a sigh. _Blimey, gov'nor... don't leave me to deal with this on me own!_

xx-xx-xx

Long after the explosions had died down and the noise of panicked madness had faded away outside, the dim light in Colonel Hogan's office had stayed on. Time passed, and the men in the common room had stayed awake, staring at the thin shaft of light that showed through the crack under the door to his quarters, and hoping somehow contradictorily that Hogan would either come out, or shut the light out and go to sleep. But he didn't, and so they didn't sleep either, their minds all focused on the coming day.

There was no sound coming from Hogan's room; indeed, after he returned from the mission, he gave a brief smile to his closest companions, assured them that all had gone well and that he had avoided the two patrols he had spotted, and then seemed to indicate that he wanted to turn in. Somewhat disappointed, the men had agreed and wished Hogan a peaceful sleep, but that was clearly not on the senior POW's mind.

Carter was the first to finally speak. "Maybe the Colonel's fallen asleep with the light on," he suggested.

Le Beau shook his head. "He never does that."

"Maybe he's listening to the coffee pot."

"The light's been out in Klink's office for over an hour," Kinch noted.

Newkirk kept his thoughts to himself. _Maybe he's writing his will_. He couldn't imagine what could be going through Hogan's mind right now. Three years of running a secret organization, three years of taking chances with his life for the good of the Allies, three years of building a trust and rapport with this ragtag bunch of ex-flyers—all to come to a sudden halt in less than six hours, and all because he was an officer. What was the good of being an officer anyway? Newkirk had always wondered. His opinion had always been that officers were self-important, self-centered, pompous prats, whose concern for their subordinates was a shallow one at best. That was, until he had met Colonel Hogan. And now, the man who had changed his view was facing the ultimate crisis—alone.

He wouldn't have it. Newkirk slipped quietly off his bunk and approached Hogan's door. The others said nothing, merely looking at him with warnings in their eyes. Newkirk ignored them and knocked very quietly, half wishing that Hogan wouldn't answer.

But he did. "Yeah?"

Newkirk opened the door and peered inside. Hogan was sitting on his lower bunk with his feet up. He appeared to have been reading, as there was an open book on his lap, but he closed it as he greeted the Corporal. "What is it, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk registered the almost complete lack of emotion or energy in Hogan's voice. Surprised, but determined not to show it, he closed the door most of the way behind him and approached his commanding officer. "Uh—just making sure everything's all right, gov'nor," he stammered. "You don't usually stay up this late after an assignment, sir."

Hogan looked back, noncommittal. "You don't either." Newkirk said nothing. Hogan shrugged. "Got a lot on my mind tonight. It's not every day you have to go running from the firing squad."

Newkirk shifted uneasily. "No, I guess it's not." He tried to laugh. "Blimey, I should say it's a bloody _good thing_ it's not, too!"

Hogan nodded, with just a hint of a smile. "You okay about being given temporary command with Kinch until my replacement comes?"

"Oh, yeah, Colonel, I've got no problems with that." He had so far successfully avoided looking Hogan in the eye. Now, he took the best look at Hogan's floor that he had ever taken. "Just thinking how much better it would be if you were able to stay in command yourself, sir."

"There was always the chance any of us would have to go, Newkirk," Hogan said quietly.

"Yeah, but not like this," Newkirk protested. Maybe too strongly, he thought, as he saw Hogan look away uncomfortably. "You ready to go downstairs, Colonel? Anything we can do?" Newkirk asked awkwardly.

"Just make sure Le Beau remembers I'm down there when he's making dinner. Don't give my share to Schultz, okay?"

Newkirk nodded and let a hint of a smile pass his lips. "Double rations for you till you're picked up, gov'nor. Promise."

Hogan nodded. "You'd better get some sleep," he said. "You'll have a lot to take over in the morning. I'll only be around as an advisor for a little while—you're going to have to learn to do it on your own."

Newkirk turned to go. "G'night, gov'nor."

"Good night, Newkirk."

Newkirk was about to leave when another knock on the door stopped him. "Colonel Hogan?"

"Come on in, Carter," Hogan said. Newkirk turned to Hogan and nodded his farewell, unwilling to reveal himself while the Sergeant was present. Hogan understood and nodded back, then turned his attention to the Sergeant who was almost hopping from foot to foot. "Something on your mind?"

Carter moved reluctantly into the room, as though he were acting in spite of himself. Hogan watched as the young man obviously considered his words, then gave up the pretense he was building and suddenly blurted out, "I'm scared, Colonel."

Hogan swung his feet onto the floor and sat up. "Tell me what it's all about," he said.

Carter started pacing in front of Hogan. "Well, I didn't want to bother you with this, Colonel. I mean I know you've got a lot of stuff to think about and all. But I'm scared for you, and I'm scared for us—I'm just plain scared!"

Hogan nodded. Carter couldn't express it eloquently, but he said it better than anyone else could have. "Sit down, Carter," he said. Carter pulled out Hogan's desk chair and sat on it so he could use the back as a resting place for his arms. "Take a deep breath and start over. What are you scared about?"

Carter looked surprised. "Well, gosh, Colonel. I'm scared for you. I mean, suppose the Germans catch on that you're in the tunnel? Suppose they find you and drag you out of there?" Suddenly Carter looked guilty. "Sorry," he said in a whisper. "I guess that's a bad thing to ask you."

Hogan stood up. "Carter," he said through an exhale of breath, "you're not saying anything that hasn't been running through my mind for the past two days," he said. "But when you consider it, this has always been a possibility. What's been to stop the Krauts from catching us any time? We've always known there's a risk with the tunnel. Only this time I'll be staying in it, and they'll be looking for me somewhere else. So that makes it an even safer place to be, right?"

Carter nodded, uncertain. "I never thought of it like that before," he said.

"So put your mind at rest. Being in the tunnel is probably a pretty good place to be—the Krauts won't think I'm hiding in my own basement." Carter bobbed his head. "I'll be quiet as a church mouse down there; promise. No one will ever know."

Gee, Colonel, I don't know how we're going to operate without you," Carter said. "You always keep so calm, even when things seem hopeless. I mean you always manage to find a way out of everything." He looked down at the floor. "I wish you could find a way out of this. I'm sure Kinch and Newkirk will do a great job but—I haven't worked for anybody but you."

Hogan smiled benignly at the explosives expert, the last to join his band of saboteurs. When he first arrived, Carter had been unconfident, even awkward at presenting his expertise to the others. But over the course of time, he had proven himself more than capable. And, as he was showing Hogan now, even more than loyal. Hogan put a hand on his shoulder. "You've done great things, Carter," he said. "And I expect to hear about plenty more of them when I get home. Just remember to use the code."

Carter smiled up at Hogan. "I will, sir," he said. He stood up. "You'd better go to sleep, Colonel. You'll be busy in the morning."

Hogan nodded. "Okay, Carter," he said. Carter smiled again and turned to go. "Oh, and Carter—" Carter turned back. "Nice stuff you gave me tonight. It worked like a charm."

"I know; it looked great," Carter said before he could stop himself. Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Uh—I mean, we looked out the barracks window, and all you could see was the... sight of the ...uh... the flames were just..."

Hogan shook his head. "It's okay, Carter. I know you fellas tailed me." Carter tried to deny it but Hogan put up a hand to stop him. "It was like watching Laurel and Hardy. You and Newkirk are made for each other." Hogan thought of his two men, of whom he had caught a glimpse ahead of him as he approached the tree stump entrance to the main tunnel. "Look after each other, all right?"

Carter swallowed, hard. "Yes, Colonel. And you take care of yourself, too."

Hogan nodded and the men said goodnight. Hogan thought for a minute, staring at the closed door. Then he turned back to the book he had left on the bunk. His dog-eared Bible. How many times he had referred to it during his tenure as head of this operation. How many times it had offered comfort and inspiration. But now, with his head spinning and his heart surging, its power seemed to be failing him. _Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid._ He read the passage again, and again, until the words blurred on the page. But no matter how much he willed it, he could not put his fear aside, and eventually put the book down on his desk, unable to do anything but repeat the phrases, turning them into an order: _The Lord is close to all who call on Him... Do not be afraid_.

But he was always terrible at following orders, and Hogan remained awake and anxious for most of the night, with several men only yards away doing the same. Though he was tempted several times to come out and join them, Hogan was unwilling to make them more fearful, and so he remained in his quarters. He had never felt so alone.


	7. Tragedy

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

"Re-pooooooort!"

Wilhelm Klink's voice was a little too loud the next morning for Hogan's taste, and he lowered his head and turned slightly away from the din as Schultz turned to the Kommandant to announce that all the prisoners were in the camp at this early hour of the day. _This is just routine_, he tried to tell himself. _You play with Klink a bit at roll call, you go into the tunnel... all stuff we've done before. Only this time you don't come back up. Nothing too scary, right? Right. So why am I shaking in my shoes?_

"_Herr_ Kommandant, all prisoners present and accounted for."

"Very good, Schultz!" Klink moved briskly toward the group of prisoners assembled outside Barracks Two and scrutinized them carefully, his eyes coming to rest on Colonel Hogan. He moved in closer. "Hogan, you are looking rather worn out this morning. Isn't your bed comfy enough?" he sneered.

Hogan looked into Klink's face with forced disinterest. The Kommandant's eyes were almost pleading, and Hogan could see the question in them: _why aren't you gone?_ He shrugged and dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "Let's just say the noise last night disturbed my dreams a little bit." Hogan squinted as he looked into the smoke-filled sky, and avoided taking in a deep breath, as he knew the air was still somewhat thick with the memories of burning oil.

"Never mind that, Hogan. That has nothing to do with you." Klink's grip tightened on his riding crop as he spoke through gritted teeth. "I expect to see you in my office after roll call, Colonel," he added, his eyes boring into the senior POW. The pleading, the questioning, remained.

Hogan knew what the topic of conversation would be when the two met. _Just keep up appearances for a little longer, Klink. You can't give away what you've told me! _"Whatever you say, Kommandant," he said coolly.

Klink backed up and started damage control. "Now, gentlemen, no doubt last night you heard some unexpected _noises_...some _shouting_...perhaps a bit of what sounded like _panic_," he added, trying to laughingly dismiss the frenzy that was Stalag 13 after Hogan had completed the mission to destroy the refinery last night. "But let me assure you that—"

Klink cut off as a car was heard barreling through the gates. Even in the early morning light the sheen off the black paint was disturbing. Hogan gave a brief glance to his men, who were starting to look distinctly uneasy. The car ground to a halt about thirty feet away and the door swung open. Klink turned to the prisoners as soon as he realized who was getting out. "Dismissed!" he said quickly, almost urgently.

Hogan didn't wait to be told twice. The sight of Gestapo Major Wolfgang Hochstetter started a chill that penetrated right through to his bones. _He's early!_ Hogan realized. _**Real** early! _And, surrounded by his men, he tried to stop himself from actually running out of sight.

"You will _stop_, Hogan!" came a voice.

Hogan froze mid-step, still turned toward Barracks Two and safety. His hands turned to ice. He clenched his jaw to avoid saying anything; the muscles twitched angrily. He felt his men close in around him, but he could not look at them.

Footsteps came closer until he could feel someone standing directly behind him. "I need to speak with you, Colonel Hogan."

Deliberately, stiffly, more than calmly, Hogan turned around and faced the smaller man. He looked Hochstetter in the eye, something that had always bothered him, since he saw very little in the Gestapo officer's eyes that would lead to his soul. Hogan could feel his men shifting slightly. "Something I can do for you, Major?" Hogan said, fighting his hardest to maintain a calm exterior.

Hochstetter smiled, a sickening, sweet parting of his lips that gave Hogan an even greater sense of foreboding. The American felt beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead and under his collar. _Don't let him see that you know what's going on!_

"We had a bit of trouble last night, Hogan. One of our oil refineries was blown to Kingdom Come." Hochstetter moved in till he was nearly standing on Hogan's feet. Hogan straightened even more, until he was practically looking down his nose at the German. "I cannot help but think that somehow _you_ had something to do with that."

Hogan just shook his head slowly. "You don't know what you're talking about, Major," he said.

"No matter," Hochstetter dismissed. "I will enjoy trying to find out... before we shoot you as planned. Take him!"

With a sudden wave of his hand, Hochstetter summoned two of the Gestapo guards that had accompanied him, and Hogan found himself being forcibly pulled by the arms. Knowing this time that regardless of the outcome of his interrogation he was to be executed, Hogan struggled, resisting the grips restraining him, practically being dragged away, as his men tried to pull him back. His ears were ringing; all he could hear was shouting, shouting. His men pulling, screaming, protesting. His breathing was labored, shaky; he knew it was too late for anything but panic. But panic was not about to save him.

The sudden sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, bringing all noise and movement to a halt. Hogan stood breathing heavily between the two guards. Le Beau's hand stayed on his upper arm, and he could sense it was Newkirk's hand on his shoulder from behind.

Hochstetter lowered his pistol. Calmly he looked at Hogan and said, "You are an Allied Air Corps officer and an enemy of the Third Reich. According to the wishes of the Fuhrer, you are to be executed, as there is no longer any room in our prison camps for enemy officers. But I have my own interest in your activities first, Colonel Hogan, and so you will be interrogated regarding the sabotage activities around this camp before your rightful departure." He nodded at his guards. "Take him to the solitary confinement cells. We will question him there before we shoot him."

The two guards jostled Hogan away from his men. "No—_no!_" came Le Beau's voice, as his grip tightened on Hogan. His hand was pried away and Le Beau was shoved back toward the others, as a guard gave him a warning wave of his rifle. Newkirk laid a restraining hand on the Frenchman's shoulder and stood staring, devastated, at the scene before him. Klink stood, dumbfounded, knowing he had to now succumb to the wishes of the Gestapo, who were following orders from the very top, and Schultz stood equally dumb nearby. He had known nothing of the command to do away with the high-ranking prisoner.

As the guards were about to pull Hogan away from the barracks area, Kinch stepped forward and silently handed Hogan his crush cap, which had fallen off in the scuffle. As Hogan took it, he silently told Kinch everything he had always wanted to say, and could see in the radio man's eyes the same thing happening. He glanced back toward Le Beau, whose eyes were filled with tears, and then toward Newkirk and Carter, who were standing, still stunned, shaking, and looking for all intents and purposes as though they were going to charge the Germans to stop this.

Obviously Hochstetter suspected this as well, as he gestured for a third guard to stand, rifle ready, between Hogan and his men. Kinch stepped back to the others.

Hogan stared at the men he had worked with for so long. He wanted to say something glib, something light hearted. He wanted to take those looks off their faces, to say something to comfort them, to reassure them. But he couldn't think of a thing, so he simply nodded slightly and let his eyes talk for him, hoping they weren't relaying too much of the absolute terror he was feeling now, and then allowed himself to be led away.

xx-xx-xx

The order to confine all prisoners to Barracks after the heartbreak outside had little impact on the men of Barracks Two, who would have retreated to their huts whether ordered to or not. Louis Le Beau, who would normally have been cooking up a storm by now, sat impotently at the common room table, occasionally wiping away the tears that were streaming ceaselessly down his cheeks. He looked at no one, wallowing in absolute misery.

Newkirk sat across from him, punishing the deck of cards that had the misfortune to be nearest his hand when he stumbled back into the barracks. He split the deck in two, then ground one half into the other mercilessly, pushing all the harder when any of the cards refused to submit to his will. Then he would start the process over again, with no intention of ever starting a game. His concentration was extraordinary. But it was the only thing stopping him from breaking down, whenever he felt stinging in the back of his eyes, and saw Hogan's struggle with the guards playing out all too clearly before him.

Kinch, too, remained quiet, sitting on the bunk that hid the tunnel below, remembering. All he could do was remember. Hogan's trust in him had been unwavering, such a unique thing in a time when people had barely gotten used to living alongside colored people, much less working closely with them. But Hogan had been mentally colorblind, as were Newkirk, Le Beau, and Carter. And suddenly, Kinch knew his life had been changed for the better, even though he had been stuck in a German Prisoner of War camp. He had seen what was possible, and he could never turn back. And one of the men responsible for that change was now sitting in solitary confinement, awaiting death. Kinch was numb.

The ghost of the group was Carter. When the men filed, dazed, back into the building, Carter had headed straight for Hogan's quarters. At first he stood in the doorway, just staring. Then, he shuffled inside and stared at Hogan's bunk. Finally, he sat down at Hogan's desk, and just looked at nothing at all. He had told Hogan last night that he was scared, and Hogan had tried to reassure him that everything would be fine. And Colonel Hogan was always right; everything usually _was_ fine. But today it wasn't.

Carter's eyes were full with unshed tears. He could feel them brimming on his bottom lids, waiting to spill. But he couldn't let them fall on the Colonel's floor. Hogan would not have wanted Carter to cry; he would have wanted him to be strong. On the other hand, Carter thought, whenever the Sergeant felt himself becoming too emotionally involved in something, the Colonel had always been quite firm in telling him that it was Carter's humanness that helped him do his job with the least risk to anyone not targeted by their activities. That it was his emotion that helped him to save lives. And so Carter let the tears out, and a heart-wrenching sob escaped his throat as he shook in his agony over what was to come.

Suddenly the room was filled with Hogan's closest companions, who, in concentrating on comforting Carter, were all really supporting each other. With things now being so radically different from what they had planned, all they could do for the moment was think minute to minute. It would be some time before they could consider the future, or before they wanted to.


	8. A Glimmer of Hope

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

xx-xx-xx

"Come, Colonel Hogan. You know you have nothing to lose now. The Fuhrer has ordered you to die, along with all the other Allied officers. So tell me, what is it that you have been up to while you have been in this camp?"

Hochstetter moved in closer to Hogan, until the Colonel could feel the man's breath on his cheek. Sitting tied to a hard chair in the cold cell, Hogan had already been worked over, but in small increments, designed to create pain, designed to befuddle his mind.

Designed to draw this out as long as possible before execution. Hogan simply drew in a rasping breath and remained silent. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to ignore the sharp stabbing in his side that started after a small club had struck him hard when he had been blindfolded. Now, the light nearby was almost blindingly bright to his sensitive eyes.

"Hogan," Hochstetter started again, quiet and calm, "tell me about the oil refinery. Tell me how you did it."

Hogan turned his head away and closed his eyes. Hot, it was so hot in here. Why was Hochstetter not sweating like he was? How could the man be wearing gloves?

"I grow impatient!" Hochstetter burst. Hogan flinched and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He felt someone grab a clump of his hair and pull his head back sharply. He grunted from the shock of it and opened his eyes. Hochstetter's enraged eyes stared back at him. "Hogan, you are responsible for this, I _know_ you are—you cannot save yourself; you are already under orders to be shot. So why don't you save yourself all this agony and tell me what we already know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hogan gasped.

"_Bah!_" Hochstetter growled and released Hogan's head with a shove.

Hogan panted and looked ahead with half-closed eyes. So this was it—Hochstetter was going to have the joy of killing him, but not until he'd had the pleasure of watching Hogan suffer first. Hogan wished he could just tell everything and get straight to the execution—why delay the inevitable with torture?—but something in him refused to do that. Even if he could convince Hochstetter that he had always worked alone—and he doubted he could do that—he could never give the man the satisfaction of knowing that his long-held suspicions about Hogan had indeed been correct.

"So we shall ask again, Colonel Hogan. And then we shall start to get upset with you. But we have other ways of loosening your tongue."

xx-xx-xx

_I warned him. I warned him. I **begged** him! Why did that foolish man not listen to me?_

Klink paced back and forth in his office, stopping occasionally only to look outside his window to see if anyone was emerging from the cooler. No one was, and the camp looked eerie with no one wandering around the compound, so he turned away again and walked the floor. He had done everything he could. He had warned Hogan that trouble was looming, had put his own career—his own life—at risk by alerting Hogan to the coming danger and offering to help him get away. But the man had not listened, and now he was locked in a battle of wills with Hochstetter that he could never win.

So why was Klink feeling guilty?

The question plagued him as well, until he realized it was because the tragedy was not yet over; it was still unfolding in the cooler. Hogan was not yet dead; he could still be fighting a futile battle to save himself.

_With Hochstetter's taste for blood, Hogan, you're better off making something up and hoping for a quick death._

A loud noise startled Klink, and he jumped, only to realize the window had not been shut properly and was now banging against the frame. He quickly crossed the room and secured it, then sat at his desk, wondering who would be the next to be persecuted in this war, and whether it would be the enemy, or one of his own.

xx-xx-xx

"I am impressed with you, Colonel Hogan. I had almost believed that a prolonged visit with me would have broken you." Hochstetter ran his hand along Hogan's swollen, bloody cheek, but the American barely reacted, staring blankly ahead with dull, unfocused eyes. "On the other hand, I am fascinated by your desire to undergo such punishment, knowing that in the end the result will be the same. Some American sense of loyalty or pride, I suspect." Still no answer from Hogan. "Very well then. I will leave you alone for now. But you can depend on my returning shortly, to continue our little talk. Perhaps by then you will be more in the mood for a chat."

The door to the cell closed with a loud echo, but Hogan did not hear it. He had long ago retreated into a part of himself that Hochstetter could never reach. Almost mechanically, Hogan took note of the terrible aching in his shoulders and upper arms as they supported his full body weight, as he dangled just inches off the floor, his hands cuffed above his head in shackles that had been suspended from the ceiling. He absently detected trickles of blood running along his arms as the cuffs cut into his wrists, but equally unemotionally he realized that there was nothing he could do about it, and so he dismissed any feeling that would have raised his awareness of his situation or his pain.

Heat and thirst were the only things that penetrated Hogan's mind at present, and they were overwhelming: a fever raging from within left him dripping and occasionally oblivious to his surroundings; and breathing was becoming more difficult with his arms raised above him. He swallowed razor blades every time he dared gulp in some cool air to relieve the hotness in his mind and body. A small bucket of water and ladle sat nearby on the barren cot—a torturous prop in this charade of an interrogation.

_What's this all about anyway?_ His mind started questioning, despite his desire for nothing but peace. The pounding in his head roared on, but he could still hear the banter. _It's going to end the same way no matter what you tell him. Why put yourself through this? Tell him some cockeyed story that he'll fall for, and let it end sooner rather than later... _

A muscle spasm broke his fevered reverie and made him whimper in pain. "No..." he breathed aloud. "No... It's what he wants..." Hogan laughed weakly, causing a coughing fit that wrapped him in agony. _He wants me to wish for death... He wants me to beg to die._ Hogan stretched his legs as much as possible and let the balls of his feet support his weight for a moment. "'Do not be afraid,'" he said in a whispered breath. "'Do not be...'" He was breathing easier, but his legs were aching from the strain and he had to pull them away from the floor again. He moaned softly as his arms and shoulders once again took on the burden of supporting him. _I won't do it_, he vowed to himself. _I'll outlast you somehow, Hochstetter. I'm going to make you work for my hide. By the time you kill me, you'll be half dead yourself. And then, my work will be half done._

Gratefully, Hogan welcomed the darkness that started to cloud his mind, and he slipped away from the present, to await the next round with his tormentors.

xx-x-xx

"Hochstetter's car is still here," Le Beau observed bitterly from his post at the door to the barracks. "That means he is still torturing Colonel Hogan."

The next morning, the men were still confined to barracks, with no information forthcoming. None of them had slept well; all of them were angry, or frightened, or both. And all of them were still watching Hogan being dragged away, struggling as they had never seen him doing so before, facing a slow and torturous death by a madman who enjoyed his gruesome task too much.

Le Beau backed up and opened the door wide as Schultz came in. Looking dispirited and tired, he leaned his rifle against the stove and sat down at the common room table without being asked. He sighed heavily, and looked at the prisoners, some of whom were staring at him with less than friendly faces.

"I thought you boys might be better company than the Gestapo men, at the moment," he said quietly.

"Not much, Schultz," Kinch said. A German wasn't exactly the kind of company they were looking for at present.

"They are back in solitary this morning," Schultz told them. "Major Hochstetter said he is making progress, whatever that means."

"It means he's bloody dragging the Colonel to the brink of death, then laughing in his face when he brings him back to life," Newkirk said angrily.

Schultz nodded unhappily. "At least... Colonel Hogan is still alive."

"Ever see a cat play with a mouse?" Kinch asked. "It's cruel, Schultz. Real cruel."

Schultz nodded again. "And in the end, the cat still wins."

"Unless a dog comes by and scares it away," Carter added.

"And we are sadly lacking a dog at the moment," Le Beau said.

Newkirk chewed on an idea for a moment, then said into the silence, "We could always bring a big dog in."

Kinch furrowed his brow. "What?"

"A dog. We need a dog; we could always bring one in." He hopped down from his bunk, more animated than he had been since the day before. "Look, mates—Hochstetter's a cat, and we need a big dog to scare him off. Klink's here, but he's a chihuahua—Hochstetter would only laugh at that. But who would be a Great Dane to him?"

"The Fuhrer?" Carter ventured.

Newkirk shrugged. "You're right, Carter, but a little ambitious. Try a little closer to home."

"A Kraut who outranks him," Le Beau said.

Newkirk touched the side of his nose with his finger.

"Burkhalter," Kinch suggested.

"Kinch, my boy, you win the all the marks. If we get Burkhalter in here, he might be just the man to stop Hochstetter from keeping this miserable game going," Newkirk suggested.

"And then it might give us just the time we need to get the Colonel out of there!" Le Beau exclaimed, a sudden light glimmering in his eyes.

Schultz suddenly got up from the table and grabbed his rifle. "Please, Cockroach, please do not talk like that!" he said, heading toward the door. "I do not like what is going on here... but I do not want to hear what you are planning! It would be worth my life if I was caught!"

Kinch said firmly, "Schultz, the Colonel's done an awful lot for you over the last three years. If you like him, you can't like what's happening to him in there."

Schultz shook his head. Standing guard outside the cell, he heard many things coming from inside that closed room that sickened him. But take an active roll against it? Disobey the Gestapo and orders from the Fuhrer? "I do not," he said. "Colonel Hogan has always been a nice man, even for an enemy. But this I tell you: I want to know nothing. Nothing!"

And he backed up clumsily, and practically ran out the door.

Newkirk turned to the others. "Gentlemen, let's get the bones ready; it's time to call in the dogs."


	9. Deterioration

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"That's right, General Burkhalter, it is causing quite a stir among the prisoners, which the guards are starting to have a hard time controlling, sir."

Klink sat at his desk that night, willingly, almost gratefully, gushing out this tale to his superior officer. "Yes, General. Yes, but he says he is acting on the Fuhrer's wishes.... No, General, he has not given any time frame... Of course, General, I will not tell the Major that you are coming....Yes, sir, tomorrow. Oh yes, Heil Hitler."

Klink hung up the phone and smiled his relief. For the first time since all of this began, he was having some say in its direction. He had noticed at afternoon roll call that the men were starting to behave more aggressively toward the guards, and toward each other. The tension was so thick in the camp Klink thought he wouldn't be able to walk through it, and though he tried to put it down to the normal irritability of captive men, even he was smart enough to realize it had been exacerbated by what they had witnessed yesterday, and by the fact that Hochstetter was still there, and therefore clearly still toying with their Allied commanding officer. And when he got to the head count at Barracks Two, some of the men had to be physically restrained when a fight began over something trivial, and had escalated into a virtual free-for-all. It had been an almost uncontrollable incident, and Klink, while angry at the disruption, understood the displaced rage of the men.

Because he, too, was angry.

Sergeant Kinchloe had apologized as the men shuffled back into the barracks, and told Klink that the men were all devastated by the taking of Colonel Hogan and were taking it very hard. Then he said he didn't know how much longer he would be able to get them to control themselves as well as he had done up to now. Klink had nearly dropped his monocle at the suggestion that these men were already showing some restraint. But when Kinchloe had mentioned offhandedly that Hochstetter wouldn't be allowed to operate this way if someone like Burkhalter were here, a light went off over Klink's head, and he had headed straight for the phone.

And now, things were about to change. _It might be too late to save you, Hogan. But at least I can stop you from suffering any longer._ He stared across the desk at the spot Hogan usually occupied when he was bargaining for more rations or privileges for the prisoners. It looked starkly empty now, and Klink could almost hear Hogan's loud, genuine laugh echoing in the silent room.

_It's a strange feeling, to want to save an enemy from an ally._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Lying prone on the cot, Hogan tried not to succumb to the coughing fit he could feel building in his throat. The last spasm had been excruciating to his battered body, and he had been unable to concentrate for the next five minutes on anything but the sharp, pulsing pain that consumed him. Hochstetter had ordered him released from the shackles awhile ago, speaking in saccharine tones that only made his prisoner feel all the more helpless and wary.

Worst of all was when Hochstetter himself had brought Hogan some bread. Hogan could not have felt less like eating, and yet he was ravenous. He reached out with a shaking hand to accept the offering, gagging as it went down his dry throat. Then Hochstetter had actually brought him a small ladle of precious water, most of which got spilled on the way to Hogan's mouth because of the Colonel's unsteady, swollen hands. At that point, Hochstetter had shaken his head and "tsk"ed, saying that Hogan had used his full ration for the night, and would not get more until the morning. The desperation with which Hogan tried to save any drops that were lingering on his arms and hands was a humiliation that Hochstetter wouldn't have dreamed of hiding his delight in seeing.

Through a feverish haze, Hogan was starting to feel the cold. His jacket had been long ago stripped away, and was visible in the corner of the cell. But he was exhausted, and had no strength to retrieve it. His torn shirt was soaking with sweat and was of no help at all, and his shoes were probably somewhere near his jacket and cap. He had been deposited on top of the thin blanket provided to prisoners in solitary, but he could find no energy or ability to get off of it so he could wrap himself in it.

He was lost in a twilight netherworld, and blankly faded into uneasy dreams, which were a strangely distorted version of his nightmarish reality.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Are you sure it's safe to do this now?" Carter asked.

Kinch was standing by the bunk that led to the tunnels below the barracks, ready to head to the solitary confinement cell where Hogan was being held. He nodded his head. "Hochstetter's done for the night. We have to see what condition the Colonel's in, tell him the plan. You heard what Klink said on the coffee pot—Burkhalter's coming tomorrow. When he hauls Hochstetter out of there, we'll be able to rescue the Colonel. It's too risky to do it now."

Newkirk patted his shoulder. "Let us know if you need anything."

Kinch nodded grimly, then headed out.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch gritted his teeth as the stone that would let him enter the cell in solitary confinement scraped noisily against the floor. Stopping every few seconds to gauge any activity on the other side of the wall, he pushed just far enough to be able to squeeze through the hole, and drew himself up in the room.

What he saw nearly made him sick. There was blood on the floor in the middle of the cell, splattered like raindrops in spots and concentrated as though poured from a gaping wound in others. There was the Colonel's jacket discarded in the corner. A single shoe. His cap. And the smell of sweat, fear and pain. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, cold light from the bare, single bulb, Kinch scanned the room until he saw a still figure abandoned carelessly on the cot against the wall.

_Oh my God, we're too late!_ Kinch rushed to the cot and put his hand out to touch Hogan, then recoiled as he became aware of his condition. The Colonel was lying still, his breathing coming in shallow, rattling breaths, with an occasional groan coming from somewhere within him. His face was bloody—Kinch couldn't tell where the actual wounds were—and his hair was matted and dirty. Hogan's hands and wrists seemed swollen, and Kinch could see where some sort of restraints had cut into him, and where Hogan had obviously pulled against them, whether to escape them or as a reaction to some form of torture he did not want to know.

Kinch very gently put a hand to Hogan's forehead. Hogan was hot to the touch, and yet the room was near freezing. Kinch saw the blanket underneath him and started to move Hogan very carefully in order to release it. He paused briefly but did not give up on the task as Hogan let out a plaintive whimper of pain at the jostling. Finally, he was finished, and he tucked the scratchy covers softly around his commanding officer. "Colonel Hogan," he whispered near Hogan's ear. Hogan made no response. "Colonel Hogan, sir," he said again, kneeling closer. No answer but a coincidentally well-timed moan. "Hold on just a little longer, Colonel. Help is on the way." Nothing. Kinch started despairing, but decided to take heart in the fact that Hogan had lasted this long, and that Hochstetter was obviously not satisfied enough to shoot the man yet.

Standing up, Kinch whispered a farewell promise. "You'll be out of here tomorrow, Colonel. You can count on it." Then, his heart nearly breaking, he left Hogan in the cold cell to endure the night alone.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The next morning, Le Beau pulled away from the wall of the barracks he was leaning on and gestured vaguely toward the front gate. "Kraut car," he said.

Newkirk and Carter looked up from the nothing they were doing, and watched the vehicle pull up in front of Klink's office. A non-com got out and opened the rear door, revealing General Burkhalter, who quite purposefully strode into the building.

"Carter, go tell Kinch it's time. Le Beau, you'd better tell Wilson to be standing by."

The pair agreed and broke away to do their assigned tasks. Newkirk tried to nonchalantly head back inside the barracks, then bolted for Hogan's quarters, where he pulled out the coffee pot to monitor the situation. "All right, Burkhalter, do your stuff. And do it quick so we can get the gov'nor out of there."

"Klink, what is going on?" Burkhalter didn't bother greeting Klink when he entered the office. Nor did he think of sitting down. The whole idea of dealing with the Gestapo, and Hochstetter in particular, was completely distasteful, and, in this case he believed, a waste of his time. Hochstetter was to have come to the Stalag the day before yesterday and remove Colonel Hogan from existence. Something had not gone to plan, and, in Burkhalter's opinion, it was no coincidence that the foul-up had occurred under Klink's nose. "Why is Hochstetter still here?"

"General Burkhalter, how good to see you," Klink started by fawning. Burkhalter waved away the effort and, worry eating at him, Klink got straight to business. "I know the General asked me to cooperate fully with the Gestapo; however, I expected the Major to be gone by now."

"What has he done about Hogan?"

"Major Hochstetter arrived during morning roll call two days ago and upset the prisoners, sir. He promised Colonel Hogan that he would be interrogated about the sabotage of the oil refinery and then, when the Gestapo was done, that Hogan would be shot. The prisoners were naturally very distressed by this, and I had to confine them to barracks. They seemed better this morning, so I let them out. But the guards are very vigilant, General Burkhalter, and I can't help but wish that the Major would complete his business and leave the camp."

Burkhalter had remained silent during all of this, nodding in agreement, and raising an eyebrow in annoyance. "Major Hochstetter has not been assigned to do anything at the moment but ensure that the Fuhrer's orders are carried out. The disruption of an entire prison camp for the interrogation of one man is not acceptable. Where is he now, Klink?"

"He has Colonel Hogan in one of the solitary confinement cells," Klink answered.

"And how is this interrogation proceeding?"

"I have not been down there, General. I did not want to interfere with Gestapo business." _And the reports from Schultz were bad enough. I don't think I could see Hogan right now—even if he could remember who I am._

"Well _I_ am going to interfere with Gestapo business. Right now. Come, Klink."

Burkhalter turned and swept back out the door. Klink grabbed his overcoat and hat and hurried to keep up, praying that Hochstetter had not finally completed the horrific deed he had been sent here to do.


	10. Interference

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk raced through the tunnel to where Kinch was waiting, on the other side of the wall of Hogan's cell. "It's time," he whispered breathlessly. "Burkhalter and Klink are on their way over."

Kinch nodded. "Good. The Colonel needs a break." In the last ten minutes he had heard much more than he wanted to of Hochstetter's "interrogation." At first, Hogan had seemed quite alert, and responded either in the negative to the German's accusations, or made some comment that angered his captor. Then Kinch had heard chains, which he feared were being used as a makeshift whip, and some terrible cries that, had he not known who was in there, he would not have been able to guarantee were human in origin. Now, things had gone quiet, at least on the Colonel's part, and Hochstetter's voice could be heard, but Kinch couldn't make out the words.

Suddenly they heard the door to the cell being opened, and Burkhalter's accusing voice boomed right through the wall. "Major Hochstetter, what do you think you are doing?"

"General Burkhalter!" Hochstetter sounded like he was trying not to appear annoyed with the intrusion. "I am questioning Colonel Hogan on suspicion of sabotage before shooting him by orders of the Fuhrer."

"And do you think the Fuhrer would approve of you putting your interests before his own?"

Hochstetter's response about being certain Hitler would want to know if the sabotage around the camp would stop when this prisoner was executed was drowned out by a gasp from Colonel Klink. "Major Hochstetter, how can you expect Colonel Hogan to answer your questions like this?" he asked, his voice strangled.

"In the end his answers do not matter."

"Hochstetter, you will come with me," Burkhalter said, in a tone that invited no protests. "We will discuss this in Klink's office, and then you will do what you came here to do."

Kinch and Newkirk exchanged looks. _We'd better work fast!_

Hochstetter's reply was somewhat subdued. "Of course, _Herr_ General," he said. "I am sure you will understand my reasoning when you have heard all I have to say." Then, obviously speaking to his guards, he added, "Go and have your lunch. I will call for you when I am through talking with the General and the Colonel."

Newkirk and Kinch heard the door to the cell being closed and locked. Kinch counted to ten, then moved the stone out far enough to move back through with Hogan.

But when they entered the tiny room, they were horrified to find that Hogan had been left hanging by his arms from the ceiling, with manacles again cutting into his already raw wrists, and his feet not touching the floor, as he had tried to curl in on himself to protect himself from what would have been countless strikes from all sides.

Newkirk came around to face Hogan, both compelled to look at him, and repulsed by the whole scenario. The Colonel's eyes were open just slightly, but he showed no sign that he knew his friends were there. Newkirk looked closely—yes, Hogan was still breathing. But with nothing to support him, and having his arms stretched over his head, the breaths were coming in shallow, uneven spurts. "We're here now, gov'nor," Newkirk said in a gentle whisper. "We'll get you out of this." He noticed blood seeping slowly through Hogan's soaking, filthy shirt and looked at Kinch, devastated. "We'd better hurry."

Kinch, meanwhile, was examining the cuffs holding Hogan in place. A couple of quick tugs did nothing but cause Hogan more pain, and it quickly became clear that they weren't going to be able to simply pull the chains away from the cell and take them with him, to be cut off later on. They were well and truly attached to the ceiling, and there would be little time to figure out how to get through them. "We can't get these off," Kinch hissed. "We need the key!"

"Schultz'll have it," Newkirk replied. "Come on; we haven't got much time." The pair of them turned to go. Newkirk called gently, "We'll be back, gov'nor. Don't give up on us yet."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Schultz suspected that the pair was up to something as soon as he saw them coming. He straightened and adjusted his rifle, then stood at strict attention outside the cell door. "What are you two doing here?" he asked, trying to sound his most military. "You know you coming down here is _verboten_."

Kinch took a chance; they didn't have time to waste dancing around the issue. "We can't get through the shackles in the Colonel's cell, Schultz. We need the key."

Schultz looked startled, then tried to recover. "What?" he asked.

"We can't get the Colonel out because of the handcuffs; we need your help."

Schultz shook his head and lost all pretense of military presence. "No, no, no!" he practically wailed. "You do not know what you are asking! Colonel Hogan is a prisoner, he is under the authority of the Gestapo; I cannot help you!"

"Come on, Schultz. Hochstetter and his goons have the Colonel strung up like a side of beef. They've hurt him real bad. Give us the key."

Schultz's features changed slightly from one of fear to one of sadness. "I know what they have done to Colonel Hogan. They have made me stand outside this room the whole time to keep anyone from coming in. And sound carries easily here."

Newkirk grimaced as images flashed in his mind. Then he pushed them away and continued. "Come on, Schultzie," he said in his most silky smooth voice, "the gov'nor's always been good to you, 'asn't 'e? I mean, 'e's always helped you when you needed it, hasn't 'e?"

Schultz started to crumble. "_Ja_, Englander, _ja_, he has."

Newkirk moved around so he was behind the guard and started to work his magic. His fingers very gently walked around Schultz's belt until he found a set of keys. Then, with the utmost caution, he removed the large ring from the man's belt, taking care that not a rattle was heard. "Well, then, Schultz, one good turn deserves another, doesn't it?" he asked. Schultz started to turn around toward Newkirk; the Corporal simply pushed his cheek back toward Kinch. "Keep facing Kinch, Schultzie; you don't want to see what's happening behind you."

Schultz started quivering. "I know nothing," he breathed in, closing his eyes in that slow, simmering fear he got whenever he was involved in something that he knew he shouldn't be, but somehow knew he had to be. "Nothing!"

Newkirk held the keys up so Kinch could see them. Without a second thought, Kinch reached out for them. Schultz trembled at the sound of them and turned away. "Thanks, Schultz. We'll make sure you get these right back. And don't worry, we'll make sure no one knows we've been here."

"_Nothing!_"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk's normally steady hands were shaking as he put the key into one of the locks on the restraints on Hogan's wrists. Kinch was considering how to hold Hogan in a way that would cushion the fall when his arms were released without causing him any unnecessary pain. But he was having a hard time finding any part of Hogan's body that had not been ill-treated by Hochstetter, so he had to simply accept that it was not going to be an easy move and tried to grip Hogan around the waist. Hogan was still not responding to anything going on around him, so Kinch was hoping it would be a brief and somewhat painless transition.

"Got 'im, mate?" Newkirk asked, as he was about to release the restraints.

"Yeah, yeah—do it."

Newkirk pulled the shackle away from one of Hogan's wrists. The Colonel sagged and Kinch lost his hold. Hogan's other arm was now holding the burden of his body weight, and he moaned softly. Kinch shook his head as he realized what he had to do, and he quickly scooped up Hogan in his arms as Newkirk undid the other lock. Hogan's full weight now rested in Kinch's arms.

Newkirk looked at his companion. "That's it; let's go." He zipped around the cell, grabbing the clothing that had been strewn around, and tossed it into the tunnel ahead of them. Then he went through the opening, helping as Kinch gently lowered Hogan to the ground and handed him in and to safety. Once fully through, and with Hogan now completely unresponsive, Newkirk moved the stone that led to the cell back into place, and then raced ahead to make sure the keys were replaced before Burkhalter and the others returned. _We've got you, gov'nor_, he thought, with a sense of relief that nearly overwhelmed him. _No one's ever going to do that to you again._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Sergeant Joe Wilson took one look at Robert Hogan and bit his lip to stop from crying in sorrow and despair. Then he got down to business. "Okay," the medic said simply. "This is a bit worse than I thought. Grab that stretcher." He pointed to the corner for it to be brought over. "We've got to move him out of this cramped area and I want him disturbed as little as possible." He touched the back of his hand to Hogan's cheek and arm. Cool and pale, Hogan's skin was taking on a slightly bluish tint. "He's in shock; grab me some blankets. We'll have to get him warm and dry right away."

And so the slow process of moving Hogan to the part of the tunnel right under Barracks Two began.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"If I understand it correctly, Major Hochstetter, the Fuhrer's order was quite clear: make sure the officers in the camps are executed. The order did not include torture beforehand, or disrupting the operation of the prison camps."

Burkhalter stood very straight with his arms behind his back in Klink's office, a position he used when wanting to seem his most menacing. Despite his general distaste for the American, seeing Hogan dangling from the ceiling after quite obviously being tortured bothered Burkhalter. He had never had a taste for the more aggressive methods of the Gestapo, preferring to get what he wanted accomplished by thinking clearly, or by throwing his considerable weight around. And Hochstetter's evident relish for the darker side of his job was something that also grated on the General's nerves.

"Begging the General's pardon," Hochstetter began with forced politeness. "An oil refinery and important truck convoy near this camp were destroyed the night before I arrived. It was clearly the work of saboteurs, and Colonel Hogan is a suspect. It would be considered important to find out if he is guilty, so we can determine if the sabotage will stop once he is executed."

"You can also find out simply by shooting him and then seeing if anything happens!" Burkhalter countered. "This long build-up is unnecessary, Hochstetter. You are prolonging this to indulge yourself, and it is disrupting the operation of this prison camp."

"Any disruption would probably make this camp run better," Hochstetter growled, with a severe look toward Klink. "I have never seen the prisoners so well behaved."

"Nevertheless, the running of Luftwaffe prison camps is none of the Gestapo's concern," Burkhalter persisted, bearing down hard. "You are to cease this unnecessary commotion and carry out your orders as handed down by the Fuhrer, with no deviation from them. Is that understood?"

"With all due respect, _Herr_ General," hissed Hochstetter, "I also have orders from Berlin that have come from the Fuhrer—to put an end to the sabotage around this camp by any means I see necessary, and that includes questioning prisoners who are about to face the firing squad. I would ask you to confirm this yourself before you order me to stop doing my duty."

Burkhalter pursed his lips and rocked just once back and forth on his toes. "Very well, Hochstetter. But you will not continue until I have confirmed the correct procedures." He turned to Klink, who had been sitting at his desk, his head jerking from one man to the other like a ping pong ball as they debated in front of him, too stunned by the whole sequence of events that had led to this point, and still reeling from the vision that had confronted him when Schultz had opened the cell door. "Klink, tell Schultz to get Hogan down from that contraption Hochstetter has him tied to. Leave him there until this is all settled."

Klink bobbed his head up and down in answer to his superior. Then, pulling himself from his shock, he stood up hastily and said, "Of course, General Burkhalter. I will see to it myself right away." _If nothing else, at least I can stop Hogan being tortured before he dies._

Klink practically ran from the office and toward the solitary confinement cell, unaware he was being observed by Hogan's closest friends. Le Beau closed the barracks door that he had opened just a crack and shouted down the bunk opening that led to the tunnel below. "Klink is heading to the cooler!"

"The moment of truth," Kinch whispered as he watched Wilson trying to settle Hogan gently on the cot used normally by the radio man himself, or prisoners in transit. "Newkirk, did you get the keys back to Schultz?"

"No problem, mate," Newkirk answered. "He wanted to know... nothing."

"Carter's down at the other end of the tunnel, listening at the cell."

"What's he doing down there?"

"Lookout, in case anything goes wrong. Besides," Kinch added, glancing only vaguely at the mess on the bunk that was Hogan, "I don't think he could take..."

His voice drifted off, as the same thought struck him as well. "I know," Newkirk replied. "I understand just how he feels. But if it were bloody Hochstetter instead," he sneered, "you wouldn't be able to stop me from laughing."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Open the door, Schultz. We have to get Hogan down."

Schultz reached around his belt, praying silently that his keys were where he hoped. He sighed inwardly when his hands felt the cold ring, and he drew out the key he needed to open the door. "_Herr_ Kommandant, what is going on?" he asked.

Klink waved his arm dismissively. "Generals, Majors—all this arguing going on in my office. I don't want to get involved. General Burkhalter says Colonel Hogan is to be taken out of those shackles and left alone until he clarifies orders with Berlin." Schultz turned the key in the lock and held open the door for his superior officer. Klink continued talking as he went in, dreading the idea of seeing the senior POW in such an alarming condition again. But at least he could relieve some of the suffering, and so he steeled himself to the task, for compassion's sake. "Schultz, you will have to get the medic, and get some fresh clothes from the barracks for Colonel Ho—"

Klink stopped as he registered the emptiness of the cell. Disbelieving, he took a fast look outside the cell, then turned and looked back in and scanned the room carefully. "Schultz, did someone already come here and take Hogan?" he asked, astonished.

"_No_, _Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz said, wondering if he sounded a bit too emphatic.

"B-But—but he is _gone_!" Klink went further into the room and turned around every which way. "Schultz, there is no place he could have gone without going through that door. Did you let anyone in here?"

"Of _course_ not, _Herr_ Kommandant!" Schultz answered. _They let themselves in!_

"Then someone has helped Hogan to escape!"

"Shall I call out the dogs, _Herr_ Kommandant?"

Klink paused. Hogan would have to be moving very slowly if the way he looked was any clear indication of his condition. If the dogs came out now, Hogan would be caught, and Klink would be guilty of helping a monster like Hochstetter fulfill an order that he didn't agree with. If Klink didn't order them out, he would be accused of helping the enemy. Either way he played it, Klink wouldn't come out on top. Finally, he said, "Yes, Schultz. But first I want you to go get clothes for the Colonel, and bring them back here. _Then_ you can sound the alarm."

"But _Herr _Kommandant, Colonel Hogan will surely get away!"

"Just do as I say, Sergeant. And in the order I have told you. Or I will be putting you on report!"


	11. Fears and Reality

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Wilson tiredly rubbed his eyes and face, and moved to the base of the ladder that led to the main room of Barracks Two.

"How is he, Joe?" Kinch asked. Wilson had not left Hogan's side for nearly two hours, but had insisted that the others leave them alone, something that both relieved and worried Hogan's men. Now that Wilson had moved away, they considered him fair game for any questions.

"Major Hochstetter worked him over pretty badly," the medic admitted. "He's got so many bruises on his face, they all run together." He shook his head. "But bruises are the easy things. The Gestapo was pretty brutal."

"What do you mean?" Newkirk asked, not really wanting to know.

"Two broken fingers on his right hand, a broken rib, I'll have to watch for pneumonia—they must have left him soaking wet at one stage and it was cold in there, I gather. Concussion, contusions, hell of a tender abdomen—maybe some bruising of the kidneys, you name it… and something else I couldn't quite understand, but I can tell you it wouldn't have been pleasant."

"What's that?" Kinch asked, concerned. Wilson considered not answering, then shrugged and led the others back to Hogan's bedside. He pulled down the blanket covering the Colonel and gently pulled open the fresh, dry shirt that had been put on him. His torso was wrapped securely in white bandages, but there were specks of red showing through. "Blood?" Newkirk questioned. He shrugged; regrettable, but not surprising.

Wilson nodded. "A lot of small incisions—like knife-jabs. Not deep enough to mortally wound him, but certainly deep enough to cause some pretty bad pain and have a decent chance of damaging something inside. About ten of them," he recounted, pointing to a small area just below Hogan's ribcage, "all in this area."

Le Beau screwed his face into a look of disgust and repulsion. His eyes were drawn toward the marks on Hogan's throat that clearly outlined someone's handprints. He felt constantly on the brink of tears, but none came, and he could say nothing, and no matter how far away he moved he could not block out the regular, low moans of his commanding officer, who had yet to lie completely still, even in this state of oblivion.

Just then Carter came running down the tunnel. "Klink and Schultz have just gone into Colonel Hogan's cell," he panted.

"They'll start searching soon," Le Beau managed to say, turning away.

Carter shook his head. "Klink told Schultz to come here and get some clothes for the Colonel before he lets the dogs out."

"A couple of us had better get up there then," Newkirk said.

"I'll go," Kinch volunteered. And, with a look at Le Beau, he added, "You come, too, Louis." _You need to get out for awhile._

"_Oui_, let's go," Le Beau answered. He almost couldn't move fast enough to control the nausea he was feeling.

Carter took in the mood of the others and approached Hogan's bunk, where Wilson was just beginning with light fingers to bundle up Hogan again. He looked at the Colonel's wrists, thick with bandages, and his right hand, splinted to keep the broken fingers protected, and knew that the others had not told him everything when they explained how Hogan had been found. He wanted to appreciate the gesture, but he also hated it: his imagination could put in so many more terrible scenarios. Or would they only be mild images in comparison to the reality?

"How long will he be like this?" Carter whispered.

"It's hard to tell," Wilson answered, burying Hogan's arms under the blankets. "I'd like him to wake up sooner rather than later; I need to get some fluids in him, and I can't do that when he's unconscious. On the other hand, the longer he's out, the less he feels, and that's not a bad thing in this case."

Carter worried. And though he didn't want to know the answer, in case it wasn't the one he wanted to hear, he asked, "Is the Colonel going to be okay?"

Newkirk braced himself for the answer as well. He had long been wondering, but had also been afraid of the possible answer.

Wilson turned to the two men and registered their grief and fear. "Look, there's no way around it; he's in awful shape. Hochstetter would have figured he could do whatever he wanted and no one would care since the Colonel was going to be shot anyway. But everything they did was just window dressing—it was aimed at hurting, not killing. He'll be okay. It'll just take some time."

Newkirk's eyes were once again pulled to the man lying on his back on the bunk. Though his eyes were closed, there was nothing about Hogan that suggested he was resting. His face was etched with new lines of agony and stress, and a particularly strong stitch of pain occasionally left him moaning as his body jerked and pulled away from the cot. "You've gotta hand it to the Gestapo," Newkirk said with contempt; "they know just how to hurt you enough so you want to die—then they torture you by letting you live." His anger grew as he studied Hogan's battered face. "And Hochstetter would have planned it so the Colonel was fully aware of what was happening when he finally pulled the trigger."

Wilson nodded and thought of the state Hogan was in when he had come in—unresponsive, but with his eyes open in eerie slits. Awake, but not aware. Until they had started to tend his injuries, when he seemed to somewhat come into himself, and allowed himself to lapse fully into unconsciousness, something Wilson took as a sign of Hogan understanding the change of circumstances around him. "Well, this time Colonel Hogan got the last laugh: he took himself somewhere Hochstetter could never go." He sighed. "Now all we have to do is get him to come back."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_WHAT?_" Hochstetter's voice rose at least an octave and his face turned a bright red as Klink reluctantly presented his findings to the other officers in his office.

"What do you mean, Hogan is missing?" Burkhalter asked, trying to ignore the continued ranting and raving going on beside him. "How could a man locked up in solitary confinement and chained to the room be missing?"

Klink shrugged apologetically. "I cannot imagine, General Burkhalter. Sergeant Schultz says no one went in or out of the cell."

"Perhaps not while he was _awake_," Hochstetter accused, growling.

"Major Hochstetter, I assure you, my guards are quite alert when it comes to looking after our special prisoners," Klink began.

Burkhalter waved his hand to stop Klink from continuing. "Yes, yes, Klink. But the problem remains: Colonel Hogan is not in his cell. Regardless of how he got out, a man in his condition," he said, with a glare towards Hochstetter, who merely raised an eyebrow and his chin in defiance, "could not have gotten very far. You have called out the dogs?"

"Of course, _Herr_ General," Klink answered. _As late as possible, to give Hogan a fighting chance._ "The guards are already out looking for him."

"You would probably be better served by searching _inside_ the camp, Klink," Hochstetter suggested. The others looked at him questioningly. "Hogan may have needed some… looking after… before he went on his way. Perhaps he is still inside the Stalag."

"Ridiculous!" Klink dismissed immediately.

"Perhaps not so ridiculous, Klink," Burkhalter said. "As a matter of fact, perhaps you had better send some men in to study the cell itself. If Schultz was awake, and Hogan got out, then there would have to be a flaw in there. And you had better find it."

"Yes, _Herr_ General."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch looked up from the coffee pot at Le Beau. "They do a good search of that cell and they'll find the tunnel. You'd better tell Carter to get rid of it, and fast."

"_Oui_, I will go." Le Beau stopped on the way out and turned back as a sudden, clear thought made it through his racing mind. "Kinch—what is happening? Are we closing down the operation?"

Kinch stared back. He had not made it past the present to start worrying about the future. "I don't know, Louis. Only the Colonel decides that. Let's move one step at a time, and hope he recovers in time to salvage this disaster. Right now, we just close the one tunnel."

_And hope it's the only one.___


	12. A New Suspect

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink stood reluctantly in the doorway to the cell that had recently held Colonel Hogan prisoner. Inside, three guards, including two of the men Hochstetter had brought with him from Hammelburg, were scouring the room, studying it closely, pulling at the bunk, tapping on concrete blocks, jerking at the tiny bars on the solitary, high window that could not possibly fit any man, not even a child.

Though the middle of the cell no longer held the American, Klink's mind refused to pull Hogan away from the chains that dangled from the ceiling. A torture chamber—that's what this room had become. Under Klink's command, this cell had only been intended to punish and remind prisoners where they were and under whose authority they were living. But now, it had been anything but that, and he doubted he could ever send a man here again.

"Keep looking, keep looking!" Hochstetter was urging. "He must have gotten out somehow!" He took the ladle out of the bucket of water and sniffed it absently. Klink wondered what he was thinking. Then Hochstetter suddenly got more agitated and splattered the ladle's contents against the wall. Klink could only watch, feeling somehow disembodied, with a deep-set feeling of personal loss. _Loss of...what?_ he wondered. Klink wasn't sure, but somehow he suspected that life at Stalag 13 would never be the same.

"_Herr_ Major!" came a sudden cry, jerking Klink out of his private thoughts. Klink looked up to see a young solder on his knees at the side of the cell, tugging with all his might at a large concrete block that formed part of the wall.

Hochstetter was there in seconds. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"Major Hochstetter, this block is loose!" answered the guard.

"Get down there and help him!" Hochstetter ordered another guard. The man obeyed, and with great effort the two young men managed to shift the block a few inches out. Hochstetter moved in to examine their findings. All he could see was a wall of dirt. But that didn't deter him. "This hole is big enough to fit a man—this could have led to a tunnel! Start digging!" The men looked around impotently. With what were they supposed to do this? "Imbeciles! Klink, get some shovels and get these men digging, _schnell_!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"He's sleeping now," Wilson said, sitting down at the desk Kinch used for radio transmissions. "That's a good sign."

Newkirk nodded and watched Hogan, whose breathing seemed steady and stronger. But the sleep wasn't peaceful; that much was clear. "So what happens now, Joe?" he asked. "What can we do for him?"

"Not much," Wilson admitted. "I'll need to spend a lot more time with him," he said. "I'm going to have to make him drink, which isn't easy at the best of times, and it'll be harder now with his throat swollen, thanks to someone's iron grip." Wilson tried hard to contain his anger, knowing how easily Newkirk rose to anyone's heated emotions. But it was a difficult task when faced with such overwhelming damage as this. "Damn that Hochstetter," is all he said now.

"Amen to that," Newkirk answered. "His hands seem pretty bad; what about them?"

Wilson sighed. He never did have guaranteed answers. He wished Newkirk didn't want them. "Well, his right hand's suffered the most. The outer two fingers were broken at the base—"

"That would have been just for fun," Newkirk said bitterly.

Wilson nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. A very deliberate act. And excruciating. So that hand's going to stay pretty useless for awhile, and I don't expect the swelling to go down any time soon." _Damn the Germans!_ "Otherwise you're looking at just some time to let his wrists heal, and the rest of the swelling will ease up. From the sound of it, they were taking a lot of strain. He's just going to need time."

Newkirk nodded. _Time_. "I've never been any good at waiting," he said simply.

"Me neither," Wilson answered. "Guess that's why I went into medicine. Always trying to rush Mother Nature's healing powers." He stood up. "Come on; let's see if we can't find something to eat. You look like you could use a sleep and a meal yourself. When we're done, it might just be time to help prod nature along."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter was raging through the rest of the day, angry at the turn of events. Burkhalter had agreed to allow Hochstetter to search the camp, but had drawn the line at the Gestapo man digging past the solitary confinement cell wall. "If there is dirt there, Major, then a man would not be able to go through it. You will end up digging your own tunnel and then blaming it on the prisoners!"

Hochstetter's response had been typical of his character—an exclamation of disgust and dismissal, then a "If you say so, _Herr_ General," through gritted teeth that spoke of a promise for revenge someday, even if the war was over.

Meanwhile, a study of the rest of the cell and the surrounding buildings turned up nothing, and the guards who had taken the dogs out of the camp also reported no success. Hochstetter called in the radio detection truck, then turned his temper and his suspicions on Klink later that day in the Colonel's office. "So, Kommandant," he started. "You say no one but you and your guard had a key to that cell."

"That's right, Major Hochstetter, no one could have possibly gotten in without either myself or Sergeant Schultz knowing about it!" Klink insisted from behind his desk. Somehow it always seemed safer to face Hochstetter with a barrier of some sort between them.

"So if Hogan is not there, he is either a magician," Hochstetter began. Klink let out a nervous titter; "or he had help from someone who had access to the cells."

Klink's laugh got a little louder. "Surely you are not questioning the loyalty of Sergeant Schultz!" he began. "I know he is a lot of things, but Schultz is certainly not the type of soldier who—"

"Well if not Schultz, then someone else with a key," Hochstetter persisted, his eyes boring into Klink.

"I am the only other one who has a key, Major Hochstett—" Klink cut off abruptly as he realized the implications. He shook his head vehemently, desperately. "No, Major Hochstetter, I assure you, I had nothing to do with Hogan's disappearance! I—"

"Sergeant Schultz was found to be wandering through Barracks Two after the escape was discovered, before ordering the dogs to be released. He apparently said he was there on your orders. A man who wants escaped prisoners found would certainly not be sending men out for clothes for a man who isn't there! _Guards!_" Hochstetter bellowed. Immediately the door to Klink's office opened and two of the Major's men came in. "Take this man to the cooler. Klink, I am arresting you on suspicion of helping Colonel Hogan to escape." Klink started protesting, but when faced with the raised rifles of the soldiers he quickly succumbed. "Now we will find out how our Colonel Hogan played Houdini, Klink. And you will wish it was _you_ who had disappeared instead!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Wilson ignored the Colonel's low groans and adjusted Kinch's hands so he better supported Hogan's head. "There, hold him like that. No, no—watch the angle, that's right; we have to be careful not to aggravate his chest injuries. Now hang on." Wilson regarded Hogan's face for a moment—the still-closed eyes, the cheek sporting an inflamed gash—and readied himself. Very slowly he started to tip a cup of tepid water toward Hogan's mouth. Gently he tried to part the parched, swollen lips, only to be met with new moans of protest but only the slightest resistance. Kinch hesitated. "It's all right, Kinch, we'll keep going," Wilson reassured him. _The Colonel's still too weak to put up much of a fight._ "Come on, Colonel, you know how much I love these little tête-à-têtes with you. Let's just take one sip, eh?"

Hogan tried to swallow in a reflexive reaction to the liquid he felt hit the back of his throat. He immediately coughed, a choking, suffering sound as his body jerked forward, and he moaned weakly, still never opening his eyes, as pain from the sudden movements enveloped him and removed him from the present once again.

Wilson shook his head regretfully and, with Kinch's help, eased Hogan back under the blankets. "Too soon," he sighed. "Well, we had to try. Good thing no one's expecting him at roll call."

Suddenly Le Beau burst through the tunnel entrance from above. "Kinch—you are not going to believe this—Klink is being escorted to the cooler!"

"What?" Kinch said. With just a glance back toward Hogan, he headed upstairs. "What are you talking about?"

"I just saw Klink heading to the cooler—with Hochstetter's goons holding his arms. I think he is in trouble!"

Kinch shook his head. "Where's Carter?"

"He's still down near solitary where we collapsed the tunnel."

"Get him. And get Newkirk, too. We'd better find out what's going on. If Klink's in trouble, that means we're all in trouble." Kinch thought of Hogan down below. _Oh, Colonel, what I wouldn't give for one of your wild schemes right about now!_


	13. Dialogues

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

A short cough and the groan that followed woke Wilson up from the slumber he had unwittingly fallen into. Aside from roll call and quick rounds of the camp infirmary, the medic had barely left the tunnel since Hogan had been rescued, gratefully accepting the food that Le Beau prepared and sent down for him. But he had kept a close eye on Hogan, not as confident about the Colonel's condition as he had made himself sound to the others, and that meant not sleeping—at least, until his body had decided otherwise.

Wilson blinked and opened his eyes widely as he got up from the chair and came to Hogan's bedside. He couldn't help smiling when he saw two half-open, confused eyes looking back at him. "Colonel Hogan," he said.

Hogan said nothing, but continued looking at Wilson. Wilson could tell from experience what Hogan was doing: taking stock. Checking himself over, trying to gauge the situation, seeing if it was safe to move, to speak, even to breathe. Hogan suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and stiffened in agony, biting his lower lip—a mistake, as that was also sore. Finally, he simply allowed himself to cry out softly in pain.

Wilson came down close to Hogan to reassure him. "I know, Colonel. I'll get you something to help," he said. He had avoided it before now, wanting to be able to monitor Hogan's natural progress, something that couldn't be done while he was medicated. But Hogan was obviously now back in the present, and needed relief, so he took out the syringe he had had waiting and injected the contents into the Colonel's arm. "You're safe, Colonel. You're in the tunnel. The Krauts don't know where you are."

Hogan seemed to relax then, and Wilson watched as he faded away again. "Hurts" slipped almost imperceptibly from Hogan's lips. And then he was quiet, still unable to lie completely still, but his breathing rhythmic and strong.

"I know," Wilson answered, though he knew Hogan wouldn't hear him. "At least you can tell me that."

Despite himself, Wilson felt emotion overcoming him. He had looked after Hogan many times, including when he had first arrived in the camp, and he had watched as the senior POW struggled with injuries—both physical and mental. This time, Wilson had honestly thought he might have lost him, but Hogan's single word had somehow reassured him otherwise. _Just like I've watched you do for your men countless times,_ he realized.

Wilson took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, and blinked back his emotion and his tiredness. Then he headed upstairs to let the fellas know that their commander was coming back to them.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Hochstetter, you continue to amaze me."

"General Burkhalter, my men have searched the camp, and they have searched the cell. If Hogan was not released by the guard, then it had to have been Klink himself!"

"Then why not arrest them both?" The question was almost, but not quite, serious. Burkhalter was finding this small man tiresome, and even though he had always cooperated with the Gestapo, something about this particular member of that group always rubbed him the wrong way, and he chafed at letting Hochstetter have his own way easily. He had had a hard time getting through to Berlin, and while he awaited further clarification of the Fuhrer's orders, he was on edge; after all, one did not normally approach the Supreme Commander about his directives. He hoped he wouldn't get himself into hot water over this himself. And since the cause of that would in the end be Hochstetter, Burkhalter was cutting him no slack whatsoever.

"One bumbler at a time," Hochstetter answered. "And if the Sergeant is guilty of the crime, then Klink would be held responsible anyway."

Burkhalter pursed his lips. How many times he had heard Hochstetter berating this camp. Many times he agreed. But the camp's record spoke for itself, and even he, Burkhalter, could not dispute it. Something about Klink and Hogan together worked well for the Luftwaffe's performance here. "Major Hochstetter, I think you occasionally forget who you are dealing with here," he said slowly.

"General?"

"Exactly. _General_. Of the Fuhrer's staff." He held his breath for a second before launching into what would be his release. "_Major_ Hochstetter, I speak for the Fuhrer in his absence on all things to do with the Luftwaffe. Colonel Hogan, if he is found, is not to be interrogated again—if that is what you truly think you are doing. When he is returned to camp you will have him shot as per the Fuhrer's orders, with no excuses. Understood?"

"We shall see, _Herr_ General, when our answer comes back from Berlin," Hochstetter answered, now a deep scarlet. "With all due respect to your rank, of course."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink paced back and forth in the cooler, missing his riding crop that he used to grip so tightly when under stress. _He_ let Hogan out? _Klink? _If only it had been that simple! Hogan had never needed Klink's help in anything, including, it seemed, getting himself out of facing a firing squad. But the how and why of it all still bewildered the Kommandant.

Klink considered the American as he walked a path around the cell's perimeter. Since Hogan had arrived three years ago there had certainly been an increased number of strange events in and around the camp. Prisoners who had escaped from other Stalags disappearing into thin air; a huge amount of sabotage activity that had the higher-ups pulling their hair out; tanks, planes, and vehicles mysteriously going missing—and then sometimes reappearing in the most unlikely places. Klink had never found himself in so much trouble—and he had never found himself saved so many times by a man who should have been his sworn enemy.

Yes, Hogan had often tried to pass himself off as a cowed, broken man—he certainly resembled something like that when he had first arrived in the camp escorted by General Burkhalter—but over time, Klink noticed a distinct change in the American. And that change did not match the continued words of compliance that Hogan used when talking to the Kommandant.

Or was that _manipulating_ the Kommandant?

_Could it all be true? Could I just have been missing something all this time?_ Klink shook the thought out of his head. _Impossible. And yet..._

He looked up as the sound of footsteps grew louder. "Schultz!" he cried, a cross between anger and relief, as the portly guard came into view.

"_Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz said, coming to the bars of the cell, "I have been sent to guard you."

Klink turned away, still unreasonably angry at the man. "And where do they think I am going?" he asked bitterly. "Unless Colonel Hogan happened to tell you a way out of here before he decided to leave!"

Schultz shook his head regretfully. "_Herr_ Kommandant, I assure you, I did not see Colonel Hogan get out of solitary. I _swear_ to you, Kommandant, I stood outside his cell the whole time, and he did not come out through the door."

"Then what did he _do_, Schultz?" Klink despaired, gripping the bars of the cell tightly. "_I _don't have any idea how he got out, and now Major Hochstetter thinks I helped Hogan to escape!"

"I am sorry, _Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz replied. His mind drifted to his encounter with Kinch and Newkirk yesterday, but he refused to let it dwell there. After all, he didn't know exactly what they had done, or how, either.

Klink made a sound of frustration and turned away from the bars. "Oh, it's not your fault," he admitted, deflated. "I just wish I had an answer for him, so he would let me out of here! I would not have let Colonel Hogan just walk out of here," he added. _If I had known what was going to happen to you in solitary, Hogan, I would have driven you out of camp myself._

"Of course not, _Herr_ Kommandant. But, _Herr_ Kommandant, the Major, he was very angry with Colonel Hogan."

Klink nodded and waved his hand futilely. "Major Hochstetter is always quite happy to blame Colonel Hogan for anything that happens around here. Once the Fuhrer's orders came through, he just knew he had leave to do whatever he wished." Klink shook his head, remembering the sight of Hogan hanging limp in the cell. Rarely had Klink ever been so devastated by human suffering; certainly he had witnessed many tragic scenes—in World War One, even in this war—but seeing Hogan, a man considered nearly unbreakable, who had changed from being a bewildered new prisoner to a confident senior POW officer, who had more than once saved Klink himself from the Russian front or worse—seeing Hogan helpless and suffering unfathomable torture was something Klink would not easily forget. "Now he can't blame anything on Hogan, and he has General Burkhalter watching his every move."

"Is there anything I can get you, sir?" asked Schultz.

Klink shook his head. "No, no, thank you, Schultz," he answered. "Perhaps a good lawyer-- or maybe a miracle. That's what it's going to take to get me out of this mess."


	14. One Out of Two

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan whispered through the pain-filled haze. "Can't-- think," he gasped. Breathing heavily, he was trying to force his eyes open, but he couldn't get them to do more than part mere millimeters, hardly enough to take in what was going on around him. And he couldn't hear past the pounding in his skull, or think past the wild throbbing of his body.

"You don't have to, Colonel," Wilson answered, tenderly touching a cloth to Hogan's hot forehead. "I'm happy just having you awake for a few minutes. Do you know where you are?"

Thoughts were racing in random patterns through Hogan's brain. He could barely remember his own name, much less where he happened to be. And he couldn't grasp any one concept long enough to focus. An unexpectedly strong jolt of pain pulled at him. "God," he pleaded through gritted teeth. Then a shocking knife of agony sliced through him, ripping through his right hand and nearly lifting him off the bunk. He cried out, tears starting to squeeze out of his now tightly closed eyes. "_God, please!_"

Hogan trembled violently, arcing on the cot and gasping for relief in desperate, jagged breaths. Instinctively, he reached to clutch the blanket covering him. But with his hands so wounded it only caused more agony, and he found himself in a helpless cycle, causing pain as he tried to conquer pain. "Help me," he begged, breathless, and unable to control what was happening to him.

Wilson gently and deliberately moved Hogan's hands away, then settled him onto the cot, speaking in soothing tones as he worked. "We'll get you through this, Colonel, we'll get you through," he said, reaching for a syringe. "Try to take slow, even breaths," he said softly. He prepared the needle and started to inject the merciful fluid, knowing that when Hogan did become peaceful, there would be no conversation for quite awhile. "Try to focus on what I'm saying. You're safe now. It will get better. Do you know where you are?"

Hogan tried to bring his rapid breathing under control. He groaned but didn't answer. Finally he let out a loud breath as his rigid body went limp, and Wilson knew he was out. The medic checked the splint on Hogan's broken fingers, then shook his head and stood up, wiping his own face, damp with the exertion of looking after Hogan. "Maybe you should've left your mind where it was when they found you," he sighed aloud, "at least for awhile." Then he called for one of the others to keep watch over Hogan, as he went up to make sure he was visible in the camp for part of the day.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"So what's going on with Klink?" Carter asked. Kinch made his way down into the tunnel, where Carter had been holding vigil beside Hogan's bedside. The Colonel had not stirred since Wilson had given him the painkiller about four hours earlier, something that Carter had been quietly grateful for, since he had been unfortunate enough to hear a bit of Hogan's earlier struggle when he was sitting on the bunk above the tunnel. He had been sorely tempted to burst downstairs at the time, but something inside him hadn't wanted to see Hogan in such an agonized state. To him, Hogan was eternally well and eternally strong. Sitting beside him now, Carter knew that wasn't exactly true, but he was still hoping that in the end, Hogan would come back to that strength. And sooner, rather than later, was his wish.

"He's still in the cooler. Going stir crazy, I would think. Poor fella—Hochstetter's really bearing down hard." Kinch shook his head. "And Burkhalter's no better—but at least he's stepping on Hochstetter's toes." He glanced toward Hogan. "That's the least of what I'd be doing."

"What did Berlin say?"

"Nothing yet. It's like they don't want to know what's going on."

"What about London?"

"They just say to keep low and keep them informed. And now that the radio detection truck is here, we can't even do that." He laughed, a short, humorless laugh. "After all the Colonel's done for them, you'd think they'd jump to do more."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Schultz shook his head as he sat down wearily outside Barracks Two. "I do not understand what is happening," he said simply.

"What's there to understand, Schultz?" asked Newkirk.

Schultz didn't try to hide his bewilderment. "First, Major Hochstetter comes to camp and says Colonel Hogan is to be shot—but he does not shoot him. Then, Colonel Hogan disappears." His eyes widened and he shot a pleading look at the Englishman. "But I do _not_ want to know how that happened. Then, Major Hochstetter puts the Kommandant in the cooler." He shook his head regretfully. "Poor Kommandant, he is so frightened. I tell him, everything will work out fine. But he does not trust the Major." In a low voice he added, "And neither do I."

"What's going on, Schultzie?"

"That I cannot tell you, Newkirk." Newkirk started to protest. "That is because I do not know."

Newkirk gestured toward the cooler, where Burkhalter was suddenly seen heading with Hochstetter at a brisk, determined pace. "Someone knows, Schultzie. And I have to go find out." He patted the Sergeant on the shoulder. "Finish up your lunch, mate. I'll let you know when I'm finished spying." And he turned and disappeared into the barracks, leaving Schultz pleading not to be told any more than he already knew, which was much more than he wanted.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Klink, I have good news and I have bad news."

Klink stopped pacing in his cell as the voice of General Burkhalter came to him from down the hall. He grabbed the bars stopping him from running out of there and looked hopefully at his superior officer, trying hard to ignore the man beside him. "Yes, _Herr_ General?" he asked hopefully, a stupid smile pasting itself on his face, against his wishes.

"The good news is that we have heard from Berlin." Hochstetter didn't look like he thought that this was good news, Klink noticed. "Berlin is of the opinion that any Gestapo interrogation of Colonel Hogan is to be ceased immediately."

_Thank God for that_, Klink thought compassionately.

"Normally, it would be considered the duty of the camp Kommandant to control any problems that Gestapo activity would create in the Stalags, but in this particular situation it is not considered possible."

Klink was aghast—that meant that Berlin knew he was under suspicion. That meant someone even higher up than Burkhalter was aware that his loyalty was being questioned! He was stunned, and at the same time ashamed, since he knew in his heart that he had wished for Hogan to escape. "Not possible?" is all he said now.

"That's right, Klink. When briefed on the circumstances, Berlin agreed that you are to be held." Burkhalter shrugged. "That for you is the bad news. In the meantime, the running of this camp will be taken over by me, and then by someone else being sent in from Hammelburg, until your trial is held. As for Hogan, if he is found, he will simply be shot. Which is what should have happened in the first place," he added, looking in Hochstetter's direction.

Hochstetter fumed but did not take the bait. "Colonel Klink," he said now, "I hope you are thinking about what you have done. What a shame that the man who got you into this mess, cannot get you out of it." He glanced briefly inside the cooler. "Perhaps when he is found we can shoot you both together. A traitor to his country is no better than an American anyway."

Klink felt a shudder run through him.

Le Beau had heard all he wanted to hear, and ran back down the tunnel to tell the others.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Hogan blinked slowly as he became aware of his surroundings. Oh, how he hurt. From sore muscles in his legs and at his shoulder blades, to sharper, deeper pains in his chest, hands, and head, Hogan was coming to have a very deep and personal understanding of agony. But it was all muddled and dull, as though he was under a heavy, wet blanket that stopped him from moving or feeling anything fully. He somehow sensed that he should be grateful for that, and carefully turned his head, resisting the urge to close his eyes again as even that small move caused nearly unbearable pain.

Where was he? The last thing he could remember clearly was Hochstetter shouting in his ear. He had been lying on the cot in solitary, being painfully aware of every inch of skin and every muscle that had been abused by the Gestapo goons, when Hochstetter had added insult to injury by spitting on him and reminding him that when the interrogation was over came only death. And then reminding Hogan that death wouldn't come before Hochstetter had had his fill.

Everything after that was a slide show of indistinct and confused images and sounds. Hogan had known that if he was not to go insane while waiting for the death that was to come—if he was not to beg for it and collapse in a crying, aching heap—that he would have to be somewhere else psychologically. And so he had removed himself mentally from the torture, and had planted himself firmly in Connecticut, near his home in a field that he loved.

And it had worked. When his abdomen was being pierced slowly and deliberately, he concentrated on the brilliant yellow of the buttercups that were sprinkled across the field as far as the eye could see. And when he saw his blood dripping down onto the flowers and the petals became tinged with red, he remembered the crimson poppies that bloomed near the farthest tree. When his little finger was being forced back farther than he could endure, he made himself dizzy with the sound of buzzing bees that drowned out his own agonized cries, so that by the time the Germans targeted his ring finger he barely responded, aside from the tears that rolled freely down his cheeks as it snapped sickeningly. When shouts of abuse assaulted his senses and his head pounded, he heard the clanking of the horseshoes as they hit their targets during the many family picnics in the field. The smell of sweat and fear was replaced by the tantalizing perfume of the apples in the tree he used to read under. The heat of fever as his body fought the onslaught was tempered by the cool meadow breezes that whispered across his brow.

And when he was lying flat on his back with his arms pinned down by heavy boots and a pair of hands tightening around his neck, he looked up and saw stars. Not just any stars: the stars he saw the night he and his first true love waltzed, without music, in the field after a friend's wedding earlier in the day. The stars that shone down on Donna Marie when she whispered, "I love you, Rob," in his ear, in that breathless tone that left him woozy with desire and happiness. The stars that made so many promises to them as innocents, before hard times swept through the country and took her away from him.

And in the middle of those images came the reality: voices—some shouting, insistent screams; other more soothing, coaxing, pleading words. None of it clear. None of it with faces to match. Just flashes. And for the moment, Hogan was grateful for that as well.

So now, having taken a moment to return his psyche to Germany, Hogan tried to focus. _Do you know where you are?_ The words came to him as though someone had spoken them, but he could not remember it for certain. He looked directly across from him and saw a desk, and some equipment, and an uneven wall. A tunnel. _**The** tunnel?_ he asked himself, not quite sure whether to believe his stinging, aching eyes. He let out a low moan, weary within himself, and ready to sleep again.

"Colonel," he heard. Hogan wanted to turn his head toward the voice but could not will himself to do so. "Colonel Hogan, I am here."

Hogan tried to speak, but found his throat dry and razor sharp. "Le Beau?" he croaked. God, that hurt.

"_Oui_, Colonel." Hogan heard the creak of a chair and soon saw Le Beau's small, worried face come into view. Holding a glass of water, Le Beau asked gently, "Can you lift your head?"

Hogan didn't even try. He just let out a breath and closed his eyes.

"It's okay; Wilson showed us what to do," Le Beau said efficiently, as though Hogan had answered. Hogan opened his eyes slightly as he felt water touching his lips, and he saw Le Beau very gently squeezing a dripping washcloth over him. He opened his mouth a little bit and thanked God for the cool water that worked its way past his lips and onto his tongue. "Not too much at once, Colonel," Le Beau said, stopping. He smiled at Hogan benignly. "I will not ask how you are feeling."

Hogan nearly smiled but found the effort too great at the moment. Instead he let out a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a moan, letting his eyes drift shut.

Le Beau nodded. "You are in the tunnel, Colonel," Le Beau confirmed. "Kinch and Newkirk got you out of solitary. You probably do not remember," he said kindly, as Hogan certainly did not. "You have been here for three days, and you are getting better," he said deliberately.

Hogan wanted to slip away again, but he had one overriding concern. He opened his eyes. "Operation—?" he managed, before a cough riddled him with instant pain.

Le Beau let Hogan ride out the wave of hurt before he answered. "On hold, _mon_ Colonel. Too much Bosche activity. Hochstetter and Burkhalter are still here, and the radio detection truck is parked outside." Le Beau decided that was enough to say for now. Hogan did not need to worry about Klink and everything else going on.

"Louis—did I say—I can't remember anything—" Hogan asked, barely audibly.

"No, _mon ami_, you did not say anything to that pig Hochstetter," Le Beau said proudly. "We would not be here now if you had."

Hogan groaned agreement and closed his eyes, going back to a sky blanketed with stars, with a woman he loved in his arms.


	15. On the Other Foot

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Sergeant Schultz remained unmoving as the men from Barracks Two were dismissed from their earlier-than-usual morning roll call. General Burkhalter was an early riser, something that did not go down well with either the guards or the prisoners. And once they had been roused, often the prisoners could not go back to sleep, which meant the guards had to be alert a lot earlier than normal, a problem for Schultz even when his mind was at rest.

Today, he watched as the men Colonel Hogan had always been closest to shuffled tiredly back into their hut, wishing that the American officer was there now so he had someone to confide in. But it had been four days since Hogan had last been seen in solitary confinement, and all searches had ceased in the immediate vicinity. Hogan was gone.

Something about the situation bothered Schultz, aside from the fact that Newkirk had Kinch had made it quite clear that they had access to the cell where Hogan had been being held. He could not understand why the men were still so surly. If they had indeed gotten Colonel Hogan out, and he was safe, why would they be upset? He thought back to when he had first learned that there was some definite monkey business going on in the camp—when he had been stunned by his own brother Ludwig coming out of a tunnel under the barracks. Hogan and his men were more than just mere prisoners of war; they were still fighting, right under the Germans' noses.

Schultz reluctantly considered the possibility that Hogan had not survived Hochstetter's interrogation. The sounds he had heard while guarding the room were enough to drive a sane man out of his mind—the human suffering was immense, which was hard enough. But hearing it inflicted by someone who seemed to enjoy it had left him nearly retching, and it was only fear for his own life that had stopped him from bursting into the cell and using his own strength to bring Hochstetter to a halt. _Perhaps Hogan had died_. Schultz was unsure how he would deal with that idea, if it was a reality.

Newkirk was the last to head back inside, and Schultz shook himself into action and followed. "Englander," he beckoned, as Newkirk headed for the stove. "Can I talk to you?"

Newkirk turned to the guard and nodded. "Sure, Schultzie," he said.

Le Beau, Kinch and Carter observed quietly, milling about the room. Le Beau started to gather some food for breakfast. Though the sun had barely broken the horizon, he had things to do, and there was a man healing downstairs who would need nourishment. If he could do nothing else, there was always the need for food. It kept his hands busy, and stopped his mind from focusing too sharply on their problems.

"I would like to know—" Schultz paused. _No, I would **not** like to know. But I **need** to know._ He rephrased his unspoken words. "The prisoners have been very cross lately."

Newkirk shrugged, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He sat down at the table before answering. "Things haven't been so wonderful for us here lately," he said simply. "In case you hadn't noticed."

Schultz nodded knowingly. "They have not been so_ wunderbar_ for me either, Newkirk." He sat down at the table without being invited. Le Beau shook his head but kept at his duties. "It is very confusing for the guards. Kommandant Klink is locked up, and no one knows how long Major Hochstetter will keep him there."

"Poor baby," Newkirk shot back sarcastically. "At least Hochstetter's not beating him nearly to death." The look on Schultz's face made him immediately contrite. "Sorry, Schultz," he said softly.

Schultz shook his head. "_Nein_, Newkirk, you are right. It is not right, what he did to Colonel Hogan." He raised one eyebrow, hopefully. "Where _is_ Colonel Hogan?" he asked reluctantly.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Kinch.

"No. I do not want to know," Schultz decided. "I want to know _nothing_. But... is he... all right?"

"Hardly," Le Beau replied crossly. "Filthy Boche."

"He'll recover, Schultz," put in Kinch. "But it's going to take a long time. Hochstetter was sure he could do whatever he wanted to and not have anyone to answer to for it, since he was going to kill the Colonel anyway."

Schultz shuddered. "I did not know anything about that, boys. Honestly!"

"We know ya didn't, Schultz," Carter answered.

"And now Major Hochstetter thinks Kommandant Klink helped Colonel Hogan to escape, and he is going to bring him to trial."

"A fair trial, Schultz?" asked Carter.

"There's no such thing when the Gestapo's involved, Carter," Kinch interjected.

"When's this happening, Schultz?" asked Newkirk.

"The Major did not say. But he has been given full approval by General Burkhalter to prepare for trial as necessary. Major Hochstetter says that should take about two days."

"That's not much time," Kinch said.

"_Oui_, considering Klink's perfect record here you would think there would be more to look at than the Colonel's disappearance," Le Beau added, putting eggs onto some plates for the men.

"That does not matter to Major Hochstetter," Schultz said, shaking his head. "Colonel Hogan got out of a locked cell, with a guard at the door. I am afraid it is all my fault."

"You're not to blame, Schultzie," Newkirk protested sincerely.

"Yeah, you didn't have anything to do with Kinch and Newkirk going in through the—"

"_Carter!_" cried Le Beau, Kinch, and Newkirk almost as one.

"The Kommandant told me to get clothes for Colonel Hogan before I called out the dogs. I should have said nothing."

Le Beau asked quietly, "Why did he do that, Schultz?"

Schultz answered, "I think it is because he felt bad about how Colonel Hogan was being treated, and he wanted to give him a chance to get away from Major Hochstetter. So now, Major Hochstetter has the Kommandant instead."

"It's a sticky wicket, all right," Newkirk agreed. "But it still doesn't make up for what happened to the Colonel."

"In this, Englander, we will have to agree to disagree. The way I see it, the Kommandant has traded for Colonel Hogan's life, with his own."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau paced the floor later that morning, unable to forget the conversation with Schultz. The idea appalled him—to think that some lousy, cowardly German officer had actually taken his own life in his hands in order to save Colonel Hogan was impossible. And yet they had all heard Klink telling Schultz quite clearly to delay calling out the dogs to search for him. _Probably to give Colonel Hogan more of a lead—it is more of a sport that way_, he thought bitterly.

Carter walked in on Louis as he trampled through Hogan's empty office. "Whatcha doing, Louis?" he asked.

"Thinking."

Carter ambled in and sat on Hogan's lower bunk. "Yeah. There's sure a lot to think about. I mean, who'd have thought that Klink would show so much backbone?"

Le Beau stopped and turned to the American. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, Klink didn't know about the tunnels. He had to think the Colonel was outside the fence somewhere. But he waited before calling out the dogs."

"So?" Le Beau answered, unwilling to accept that Klink was on a mercy mission.

"So, I mean, how many times have we seen Klink cave in because he was afraid of the Gestapo?"

"Everyone in his right mind is afraid of the Gestapo."

"Yeah, but with Hochstetter here, Klink still waited. He thought he was giving Colonel Hogan time to get away." Carter shrugged. "And look where it got him. I mean, he may not be one of us, you know, but he's sure at least partly human."

"Maybe partly. But if he had spoken up sooner, _mon_ Colonel would not be suffering so much right now."

"No," agreed Carter. "Maybe he'd just be dead."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"That's good, Colonel. No more now, you need to have a rest." Wilson drew the cup away from Hogan's dry lips and eased his patient back down onto the cot.

"Hot," whispered Hogan, already sweating and exhausted by the mere act of being propped up for thirty seconds and swallowing.

"You still have a fever. That's why drinking water is so important." Wilson wrung out a wet cloth and ran it gingerly over Hogan's abused face and neck. "You just do as I say and you'll be up and about before you know it."

"Gotta find out... what's... going on..."

"Not right now, Colonel; you're off the clock. What you have to do right now is heal." Wilson moved the blanket down to check Hogan's dressings.

"Germans everywhere?—uhhn," Hogan cut off, as a feather-light probe of his abdomen sent fireworks racing through his body.

"What do you expect in Germany?" Wilson quipped, trying to keep Hogan's mind off of the assessment. He reached for Hogan's right arm. "I don't usually see many _mademoiselles_ around here—though that's not for lack of looking." The pain swelled to excruciating levels as Wilson's examination turned to Hogan's wrist and hand. They were still badly swollen and tender to the touch, even through the thick dressing and the splint. Hogan's muted groans became shrill, anguished cries as the medic checked the roughly broken fingers. Wilson could only imagine the pain. _How did he bear this being done to him? _"Sorry," he said sincerely, pausing in his work to give Hogan a brief respite. _Sorry_. "This hand is going to be bad for quite awhile, I'm afraid."

Hogan lay panting, his eyes closed as sudden images of his imprisonment came rushing through his mind. Wilson mercifully concluded his work quickly, and covered Hogan again with the blanket. "You're doing better, Colonel, but you still have a long way to go. No late-night frolicking with the _frauleins_ for a little while longer, okay?"

Hogan's mind was already drifting in its struggle to endure. "Only with... Donna Marie," he mumbled incoherently. Then he faded back to the comfort of home.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Very good. Then the trial will be held here the day after tomorrow," Burkhalter said into the phone. Kinch and Carter looked at each other as they sat at the coffee pot, now keeping regular checks on any activity in Klink's office. "And when will Klink's replacement arrive?... Excellent. We will be expecting you."

Kinch unplugged the listening device as Burkhalter hung up the receiver in Klink's office. "Boy, is Klink in trouble," Carter said.

"That's quite an understatement," Kinch observed. "Sounds like Burkhalter's expecting a guilty verdict."

"What else would there be?" asked Newkirk, coming into the room. "Klink's facing the Gestapo—guilty is the only thing they know. Easier to say than 'innocent'."

"This isn't good. If Klink's found guilty and we get a new Kommandant, the whole operation could be in big trouble."

"What do you think it's in now, mate?" replied Newkirk. "We'll just have to see who we get."

"Well, I hope it's someone like Klink," wished Carter aloud. "I mean, he's an enemy, but at least he's been a pretty nice enemy. I mean as nice as enemies can get without actually being allies—"

"Carter, you're dribbling," Newkirk said.

Kinch shook his head. "No, Carter's right. Klink's gone above and beyond the call this time, and it's really cost him—and us. I wish we could think of a way to get him out of this and put him back in place."

"How are you planning to pull off _that_ miracle?" Newkirk asked.

"I don't know. But we'd better start thinking. Otherwise we might have already gone on our last mission."


	16. Secrets

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"But General Burkhalter, I assure you I had nothing to do with Colonel Hogan's disappearance!" Klink protested later that day, when the General came to tell him about his replacement.

"I'm afraid this time, Klink, that it is out of even _my_ hands. You were given the responsibility of making sure that Hogan was ready for execution—"

"And he was!" Klink declared. "Was he not standing at roll call when Major Hochstetter showed up?"

"—and instead we find an empty cell and nonsensical orders from you to delay calling out the dogs to search for him. Berlin is most displeased."

"I-I-I... I was simply stunned, General Burkhalter. I was not expecting to find Hogan missing—I can't imagine how he would have gotten out! I couldn't think!"

"Of you, Klink, I can believe this. And are you still insisting that your Sergeant of the Guard could not have had a role in this?"

Klink paused. In his heart he knew that he himself had been guilty of trying to get Hogan away from Stalag 13, and that he was relieved when he found an empty cell. But Schultz had had to listen to the horrific injuries being inflicted, and a man with such a soft heart would be more than sorely tempted to try to stop the suffering in any way he could. But would that include taking part in a prisoner's escape? "He says he did not, sir. Schultz may be a little dimwitted, but he does not lie to me, _Herr _General."

"Well _someone_ is lying, Klink. And I think it will make little difference to the prosecution whether it is or is not you. For your sake, Colonel Klink, I hope it was worth it."

"General Burkhalter, I assure you—!"

Burkhalter held up a hand. "Save it for the trial, Klink. Captain Eichberger will be here in three days to take over the running of this camp. In the meantime I suggest you think of some creative ways of saving your skin—if you can."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Hochstetter, I am not yet convinced that Colonel Klink had anything to do with Hogan's escape," Burkhalter said later that day. He opened up the humidor on Klink's desk and took out a cigar, waved it under his nose, disapproved, and put it back.

"With all due respect, it is not the General that needs convincing. That will all be determined at the Kommandant's trial." Hochstetter paced in front of Klink's desk, almost as unhappy to see Burkhalter sitting behind it as he would to see Klink. A Gestapo man needed to be in charge, not some wishy-washy Luftwaffe officer. At least Franz Eichberger, while not Gestapo, was touted to be gung-ho about the business of running a prison camp. He had worked his way through the ranks quickly, only coming into his Captainship in the last few months, and his superiors were quite certain that he could handle a camp like Stalag 13 with no trouble at all.

And if he could be get along with Hochstetter, so much the better. Maybe together they would finally weed out the sabotage issues around the camp. On the other hand, Hochstetter considered, with Hogan gone, perhaps there wouldn't be any sabotage to sort out.

"And there's another issue to contend with," Burkhalter said. He paused. He didn't like confiding in Hochstetter; he always felt like he was dealing with a swamp rat.

"What is that, _Herr_ General?"

Burkhalter grimaced. "I was informed of something this morning I did not know," he began. "It appears that our bumbling Colonel Klink is actually quite valuable to the Third Reich."

Hochstetter snorted. "A prison warden? What makes him so valuable? Why didn't he ever say anything?"

"He does not know. But he has been entrusted with a list of people who are to be rounded up by Berlin in the event of anything... unfortunate occurring. They are people who are being watched and investigated by the upper echelons as we speak, as we believe they can lead us all the way back to higher, more important contacts."

"How can he not know this?" Hochstetter asked, disbelieving. "Why would they send someone like that to this cesspool of a camp?"

"They would send him here for his own protection." Burkhalter refused to comment on the condition of the LuftStalag.

"You mean he is putting on an act when he behaves like a bumbling idiot?"

"No one is that good an actor," Burkhalter replied. "Klink's behavior is his own. He was hypnotized and given the list, then told to forget it ever happened. He would simply be taken to Berlin and hypnotized again if the information needed to be retrieved."

"_Bah_, this is nonsense!" Hochstetter dismissed. "Surely there are other ways of safeguarding this kind of information."

"No doubt," Burkhalter answered. "But it is certainly something to think about when considering Klink's future." He shrugged. "Berlin has many scientists working on experiments with the human mind. They even tried to do some work on Colonel Hogan when he was captured. But he was apparently too strong willed to succumb to the programming we had intended for him." He paused. "This was apparently not a problem with Colonel Klink."

Hochstetter waved his arm dismissively. "Obviously, it has made little difference to the Kommandant's loyalties, General. Klink purposefully let Hogan get a good head start when it was discovered he had gone missing, if he didn't help Hogan to get away himself. The trial will have to go on as planned. Let someone else less inclined to show clemency toward the enemy hold the precious information Berlin wants kept so quiet."

Newkirk's eyes widened as he listened to the conversation. Klink, carrying valuable information? _Blimey, they sure picked the ultimate in secret weapons—no one would believe a fool like that could be holding something so important!_

Until this moment, Newkirk had blocked any notions of carrying out espionage missions from his mind—nothing was more important than protecting the Colonel. But this one piece of information astounded him, and he knew he had to tell the others what he had heard. Maybe they needed to get working again, even if just for a little while, to get their minds off of the terrible circumstances they found themselves in now. To save the lives of the people whose names were locked away in Klink's head. _Not for you, bloody London_, Newkirk thought. _Not for you—you've abandoned the gov'nor like so much rubbish; but for the people who could be killed if we don't warn them._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Fellas, now isn't the time. Please," Wilson pleaded, when Hogan's men came as one to see him downstairs. "Colonel Hogan's about to fall back to sleep; he's exhausted. And he doesn't need any added stress at the moment, either," he warned, sensing something brewing from the looks on their faces.

"Look, mate, every time I come down here and the Colonel asks me what's going on in camp, I have to tell him I know nothing. I'm beginning to sound like ruddy Schultz!" Newkirk declared.

"It's probably making him more stressed to know that we're hiding things from him, Joe," Kinch added truthfully. "He knows we find out everything. Not telling him only makes him imagine the worst."

"And is the truth any better?" Wilson asked accusingly.

Le Beau was the first to admit it. "No," he said quietly. "But we need to talk with him."

Wilson looked from one man to the other, then sighed and shrugged in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, guys," he agreed reluctantly. "But just for a couple of minutes. And take it easy on him—he's still not very strong yet; don't make him any more tired than he already is."

Carter nodded, smiling almost apologetically, and was the first to lead the men to Hogan's bedside behind Wilson. He turned back questioningly, though, when he laid eyes on his commanding officer. Hogan had been propped up on pillows on the cot and was laying back with his eyes closed, his right arm on top of the blanket, but away from his sore abdomen. His face, still slightly swollen from the attacks in solitary, was still and drawn. He didn't look like he was remotely ready to hear anything from anyone. "I think he's asleep," Carter said in a whisper.

The others started to retreat when a quiet voice surprised them. "Not quite yet, Carter."

Carter turned. Hogan's eyes were open, and he had turned his head ever so slightly toward them when the men had come down the ladder. Carter smiled and came back to Hogan's side. "Gee, Colonel, I thought you were sleeping," Carter said, unable to stop smiling. It was so good to see Hogan awake! "When you were lying there all still like that, I thought sure you were asleep. I mean, your eyes were closed, and you looked so tired and all—"

"I know what asleep looks like, Carter," Hogan said softly, benignly.

The men moved back to Hogan and crowded in around the cot. Hogan looked worn, and it was quite clear that he was still suffering. But it was equally obvious that he was forcing himself to stay in the present so he could listen to his men about what was going on around him, with little ability to bear them dancing around the truth.

"We thought you needed to know what's happening, gov'nor," Newkirk started awkwardly.

Hogan nodded nearly invisibly. "Do tell," he whispered.

And so they spilled it all, from their rescue of Hogan, to having to collapse the tunnel to solitary, to Hochstetter's extended stay in the camp. When they got to Klink's arrest and coming trial, Hogan grimaced. "So they think he helped me get out," he said. "I'll bet he's regretting ever warning me now."

"He's in a lot of trouble, Colonel. Burkhalter's arranged for a Captain Eichberger to take over the camp day after tomorrow," Kinch said. "Obviously he's pretty sure Klink's going to be found guilty."

"Is there any doubt?" Newkirk put in. "The thing is, sir, that apparently the Bald Eagle is important. Burkhalter says he's got a list of possible enemies of the Third Reich who are being watched, and if anything happens, they round up everyone on it."

"Where's this list?" asked Hogan, interested but finding his energy waning fast. He closed his eyes.

"In his head, sir."

Hogan wrinkled his brow but kept his eyes shut. "Come again?"

"Klink was hypnotized, so he would not know he has the list," Le Beau explained.

"Too bad we didn't see _that_ little session," Hogan joked tiredly. "It could have been entertaining, especially if we'd put in a few suggestions of our own."

Carter chuckled. "Yeah, like clucking like a chicken," he said. "Or—or making him sing the American national anthem every time the phone rings in his office. Or—"

"We get it, Carter, we get it," Kinch said, amused.

"We need to get hold of that list, Colonel," Newkirk said. "If we don't, a lot of people could be in big trouble some day. God knows who's on it." He paused. "I don't have any answers, gov'nor. And we were hoping you might... well, you might have something in mind."

Wilson stood nearby, concerned about the revelations but trying not to fume at the pressure being put on his patient. Hogan was still seriously unwell, and asking him to coordinate some scheme was the last thing he could handle at the moment. Still, he remained quiet, hoping that Hogan's better sense would kick in. But based on past experience, he wasn't holding his breath.

As it turned out, Hogan said nothing. He lay quietly, not moving aside from the occasional twitch of discomfort. After a long pause, Le Beau spoke up. "I think he is too tired," he said. "We will have to come back when he is more awake."

"Get him out."

The order startled the men. Wilson came closer to the bed to check on Hogan. "What's that, Colonel?" asked Carter.

Hogan forced his eyes open and raised his left hand in a vague gesture of earnestness. "Tunnel to the cooler... still clear?" His men nodded. "Have to... get Klink out. Have to warn the people on that list... before... something happens." He paused, drained. "Just... gimme time," he added as his eyes closed again. "Klink's trial... when?"

"Day after tomorrow, Colonel," Kinch piped up.

"I'll have plan... before then," Hogan whispered. Suddenly Hogan's eyes opened, and he stared at them all intently. "You... took a chance on exposing... the whole operation." The men did not flinch under his examination, but looked resolutely back at him. "You could have... lost everything... could have ended up... facing... the firing squad with me. Big risk... I never told you... to do that for... me."

No one's face changed. No one looked embarrassed at the admission or ashamed by the act. Hogan's unnatural energy seemed to start waning. His eyes suddenly full of tears, Hogan murmured, "Thank you."

His eyelids drooped then and he started breathing more deeply. Wilson arranged Hogan in the bed and turned to the men. "He's asleep. Can't you guys see how exhausted he is? Just leave him for awhile."

The men nodded guiltily as Kinch said, "Sorry, Joe. But this is something that's bigger than all of us. And Colonel Hogan is still the boss as far as I'm concerned."

Wilson nodded. "I know," he admitted. "I just hope he gets paid well for all the overtime."


	17. Another Rescue

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing, Colonel?"

"I'm not sure of anything at the moment, Carter," Hogan answered. He had just given his men their directions for tonight, and he was feeling dead beat. "I'm just hoping for the best." The others had gone upstairs to prepare, but Carter had lagged behind, looking for reassurance.

"Well, this is one of your plans, Colonel Hogan, so I'm sure it's a good one," Carter said chirpily.

"Thanks." Hogan was aware of a steady, hot throbbing throughout his body, particularly concentrated at his hand and his abdomen, and the ferocious headache he had awoken to a few days ago had never completely disappeared. _I'm not supposed to be in charge any more_, he thought fleetingly. _Just let me go back to sleep_. But habit or the persistence of his crew would not let him relinquish his position, and so he quashed the idea and tried to pay attention. "It's gonna be hard on Klink," he said.

"Better than facing the firing squad," Carter replied.

Hogan nodded carefully. "You've got that right." He paused, trying to conserve his strength long enough to stay awake for the rest of the conversation. Though it would have been a blessing to fall asleep again, Hogan sensed that Carter had more on his mind, and he wanted to hear it. "Carter?" Hogan said finally.

"Yeah, Colonel?" Carter looked at Hogan with big eyes. "Do you need anything? Are you feeling okay? I can go get Sergeant Wilson—"

"Carter," Hogan interrupted gently, hoping to stop him with just a word, "what is it?"

Carter stopped, guiltily looking at Hogan and then away. "It's nothing, sir." Carter tried to sound dismissive, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it.

Hogan wasn't fooled. "Since when?" he asked softly. "Come on, Sergeant. Spill it."

Carter fidgeted while he clearly debated the issue, then whispered, "I was so scared, Colonel," he said. Hogan noticed that Carter had tears in his eyes. "That day they took you away, I was just—" He cut himself off, not wanting to force any painful memories on his commanding officer. "Well, I mean... it was the first time I thought we might really be in trouble. And without you to help us figure out what to do, I was just... scared."

Hogan understood. "So was I," he said simply. "But we always knew the risks involved in what we do." He thought of Klink in the cooler, awaiting trial tomorrow, and the tasks Hogan had set forth in motion for tonight. "And we're not out of the woods yet. You'd be stupid not to be scared." Hogan shifted with difficulty. "One step at a time, Carter," he hissed through his teeth, as he started to feel sick with pain again. "That's all we can do."

Carter nodded. "I guess you're right," he said, and, aware that Hogan's condition was starting to deteriorate, he added, "I-I'll leave you alone now, sir. You get some sleep."

"Carter," said Hogan, in a voice so strong that it startled the Sergeant, "we'll get through it, whatever happens." Hogan could feel his concentration disappearing and, seeing that his words and tone had had the reassuring effect on Carter he had hoped for, he let himself once again slip away into soothing darkness.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink bade good night to Schultz as the big guard ended his shift outside the Kommandant's cell. Left with no visitors and nothing to occupy his mind but alarming thoughts of his possibly short future, he started a slow, steady pace around his prison. He was consumed with the idea that tomorrow would more than likely be the last day he would spend at Stalag 13. Depending on the outcome of his trial—and he doubted there was little chance that a favorable outcome would result—another man, a mere Captain, would be taking his place.

_This place wouldn't be the same anyway_, he thought morosely, _not without Colonel Hogan to liven things up._ Klink tried to picture Hogan standing in the office, smoothly stealing cigars from the locked humidor, or lining up with his subordinates at roll call in the cold, with only that thin brown jacket to protect him from the elements. _An officer deserves more, but you never complained for yourself._ He remembered the more than rare occasion when Hogan would sit across from him with a chess board between them, and though the American rarely won a game, Hogan had always remained good-natured, and full of clever anecdotes and good conversation. _He could have just been playing you for a fool, if what Hochstetter believes is right_, Klink thought bitterly. _You should have just followed procedure immediately._ But when the next image of Hogan forced its way into his consciousness—that of a man tortured and broken at the hands of a man who hated him—Klink had a change of heart. He closed his eyes to the horrific scene playing before his mind's eye. _No one deserves that, Hogan. Wherever you are, I hope you're healing. _

Then the next question came painfully to him. Where _was_ Hogan? How _did_ he get out? Klink himself was being asked these things, with no clear answer. If he could only come up with something that would convince the authorities that he did not have anything to do with Hogan's disappearance, he might one day have a chance at solving the mysteries. But he could not think of one, wryly realizing that if he were here, Hogan would certainly have come up with something that would help immediately. _How ironic that my future is being determined by you, without you even being here._

Klink ran his hands uselessly along the walls of the cell, wondering if there was some truth to the notion that Hogan had simply slipped through the walls of the other room, and he wished there were some magic that he could use now, to steal away himself.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan's dark eyes followed Kinch as the radio man checked the instruments on the panel nearby and picked up a couple of small items from the desk. Kinch nodded fleetingly in Hogan's direction, a gesture that Hogan accepted with a slight incline of his head, but no words. Hogan moved uncomfortably on the cot when the penetrating wounds in his abdomen began smarting distractingly; he shot a glance over at Wilson sitting nearby, trying to keep his discomfort as invisible to the medic as possible, in the hopes of spending less time being hovered over, and more time being active.

The movement, however, was not lost on Wilson, who sagely decided to pretend he had not seen it. But he was more than aware of Hogan's limitations. The Colonel, while making a great deal of progress considering the limited medical resources of the camp, was still prone to sudden exhaustion that would unexpectedly slam his eyes shut, and bouts of nearly unendurable pain persisted, even with painkillers administered as often as allowed. The one or two times that Hogan had been permitted to get up, he had quickly returned to the sanctuary of the cot, as his still-sore muscles protested the stress, or a sickening dizziness would threaten to pull him down. Then he would sleep for long periods, his energy quickly spent.

Now, Wilson saw the look of rejection in Hogan's eyes as the tunnel hummed with activity. "They'll be all right, Colonel," he said simply.

Hogan closed his eyes briefly, took a deliberate breath, and opened them again. "Let me go out with 'em, Joe. Please." He turned briefly away from the traffic around him, to focus on the man holding him back.

Hogan's plea was genuine, but his voice was weak. Wilson asked gently, "And what help do you think you'd be in your condition?" He watched Hogan's frustrated gaze drop to his useless, throbbing hand. "Look," Wilson said gently. "You've done your bit. Let them do theirs."

"But, Joe, this time it's different. This time—"

"I know," Wilson interrupted. He didn't want Hogan to have to say it. _This time everything is at stake._ "But we both know you won't be any good to them the way you are, don't we?" he reminded him. He tried to smile reassuringly. "They've got your orders. They wouldn't dare disobey."

Hogan stared at the floor, downcast. "I guess so," he said.

"One rescue tonight is more than enough. They don't need to worry about the possibility of adding another one to their list." _The first one was devastating enough._

Hogan nodded, then brought his left hand to his head. "Dizzy," he announced suddenly, his voice unsteady. Wilson got up and immediately helped slide Hogan into a resting position. "You're right, Joe," Hogan said breathily, and sounding slightly distressed, "I'd just... slow them down tonight. MaybeI'm just having a... hard time letting the chicks... leave the nest."

Wilson smiled softly. "I don't blame you, Colonel," he replied. "But you don't have to let them go yet.... Just loosen your grip till you've recovered, okay?" Hogan's reply was a sigh that slipped through his lips as his head lolled once very gently back and forth, his eyes half closed, seeing nothing. "Yeah..." Wilson answered himself, studying the now-still face of his superior officer, "yeah, I guess that's okay."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter very slowly opened the tree stump lid outside the prison camp and scanned the surrounding area. A searchlight from the tower near the gate about thirty meters away swept overhead, causing him to duck down, and then he timed his exit from the tunnel below with the next arc of light from the camp.

Closing the lid, Carter made sure he had his binoculars and his pack, and moved out into the darkness.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Louis Le Beau made his way quietly up through to the dog pen near the fence line and tried to raise the kennel above his head that allowed him to see the compound. _T__rès lourde._ He braced himself on the ladder and tried again, this time able to move the structure a few inches. Peering into the darkness, he saw four furry legs hanging over the edge. "C'mon, you two; get off!" he whispered loudly to the dogs above him. "_Vite!_"

The German shepherds gave a short whimper and then hopped out, turning around to sniff the face of the man emerging from below. Le Beau looked at the pair of dogs that had squeezed into the small space together. "Ah, Heidi, Bismarck...I should have known." He ruffled their ears affectionately. "_Amour._" Le Beau quieted the other dogs that started milling around him, and pulled out some homemade snacks for them, as he hid in the shadows away from the lights from the towers.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----

_If it were for anyone but Colonel Hogan, I wouldn't be here. _Peter Newkirk considered what he was about to do as he waited for the signal to move in. Well, he reconsidered, shifting from foot to foot in the cold of the tunnel by the cooler, he'd probably do the same if it was for Kinch, or Carter, or Le Beau. How had he ever ended up caring about anyone but himself? His mind drifted to his prior existence on the streets of London and the less wealthy areas of the city. There, it was a rough-and-tumble life, gruff and impersonal more often than not. But here, there was a closeness and camaraderie that Newkirk couldn't get out of, no matter how much he tried to cover it with smart remarks and baleful stares.

And, surprising even himself, he realized he didn't want to.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch peeled himself away from the side of the building when the search light had passed by, heading for the next stopping point—the truck parked outside the cooler. _Considerate of Langenscheidt to forget to return it to the motor pool_, passed through his mind. When he was sure the next run was safe, he dashed to the building he was aiming for, creeping along the side of it until he got to the window he wanted.

Kinch started to look inside the opening when the tower light once again made its rounds. He ducked, hugging the wall, with his head tucked down into his chest, and when no siren sounded, he straightened, pulled the tool out of his pocket, and got to work.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Wilson watched Hogan's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. The Colonel had been asleep since before the men had left the barracks, and had not moved, aside from an occasional turn of his head or groan from his lips. What was it about this man that made other people put everything on the line at a word from him? Why did no one question his schemes?

Wilson had no sure answer, but he could guess: Hogan never asked of others what he would not do himself. There was risk, great risk, in every move they made as saboteurs and spies. But Hogan's willingness to do whatever it took to support the Allied war effort had brought out the natural bravery of the men under his command, and they now all trusted each other with their lives. They knew that somehow, whatever Hogan said, even if it seemed spontaneous, he had actually taken into account the safety of the people involved, and the very real consequences of action versus inaction.

In short, this seemingly unsophisticated flyboy was an exceptional leader. He had earned the respect of the men, and they showed it by laying their lives on the line day in and day out. A team of real heroes, led by a hero. _Hogan's heroes_, Wilson thought knowingly. _None of them would be able to do this without Hogan— or him without them. _Hogan grunted uncomfortably, a frown passing over his features as he slept. Wilson touched Hogan's forehead. Still warm, but not on fire as it had been when Hogan had come out of solitary. _Now let's just make sure we can keep them all together._


	18. Teamwork

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Silent as a cat, Kinch tightened the tool around the bar on the outside window to the cell in the cooler. Twisting it slightly, he listened for the scraping sound that indicated it was loosening, and then he continued, testing it every now and then with his fingers.

Inside the cell, Klink was lying, disconsolate, on the pallet that served as his bed. _A far cry from my nice, warm quarters_, he thought, full of self pity. Then he drew himself up, mentally, and told himself that he had certainly encountered worse sleeping quarters—like in the middle of a World War One bunker. He huffed a derisive laugh—at least there, he had a chance of escaping with his life. Here, he knew, there was little hope of avoiding being shot.

A scratching noise broke his reverie, and he sat up immediately, listening. _Please, don't let there be any rats_, he thought, shuddering. The guard in the hallway called, "Lights out, Kommandant," in an almost regretful voice, and suddenly the room was dark aside from a patch of moonlight, and footsteps faded in the distance. Klink pulled his feet up onto the bunk, listening to the continuing light scraping noise somewhere nearby.

Suddenly the sound became distinctly louder. Metal on concrete. Klink frowned, wondering about the source of the noise. Another scrape, and then a long pause. Light from the guard tower splashed through the cell, then disappeared, and the noise began again. "Who is that?" Klink asked sharply, starting to feel frightened.

"Sh!" came a voice, equally sharp. But no answer followed the reproach.

Another noise from the side of the cell caused Klink to jump. A louder, heavier sound that seemed labored and close to the ground. Klink hugged his knees, unable to decide what to do. In spite of himself, he tried desperately to see what was going on around him. But the night was conspiring against him as a cloud passed over the moon, leaving the cell in complete darkness.

Klink gave a start as he realized there was now another person in the cell. He tried to see who it was, but a very dim light emanating from the side wall was not bright enough to help. Trying to sound confident, Klink said, "Who are you?" When no answer came, he called loudly, "Guard! _Guaaaaaard!_"

"Blimey, Kommandant, you're going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut!"

Klink was sure he recognized the voice. But he didn't get a chance to contemplate the issue, because someone struck him from behind, sending his monocle flying and plunging his already dark world into blackness.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau watched as Kinch waved madly across the compound. He abruptly stopped feeding the dogs, who sat, tails wagging expectantly, not at all concerned with the business of the camp. Then he retreated to the safety of the tunnel entrance, where, still holding the kennel above his head, he started to softly and expertly meow.

The din that followed was deafening and insistent. Le Beau disappeared back down the tunnel.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter's binoculars had stayed focused on the dog pen from the moment he had made it to his target area. Now, he watched as Le Beau vanished from sight and the dogs started barking like mad. Smiling eagerly, Carter started fishing through the equipment he had removed from his pack, and pulled out a lighter, lit one of the smoke bombs he had brought with him, and tossed the device into the clearing before doing the same with several others and taking off back toward Stalag 13.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What is going on here?" Burkhalter called as he stumbled out of the VIP quarters, pulling on his coat and trying to see across the compound. There were dogs barking, sirens wailing, and guards running to and fro in a less than organized fashion.

He was met by Hochstetter who, fully dressed, was charging toward him. "General Burkhalter, it seems that Colonel Klink has escaped!"

"Escaped?" echoed Burkhalter. "How?"

"The bars on his window have been cut." He shook his head. "But they are too small; someone must have helped get him a key to the cell from there." He pointed toward the fence near the dog pen. "I imagine he went that way, as the dogs got riled up quite suddenly, and—"

"Look! Over there!" Burkhalter shouted, pointing past the fence and into the trees. Heavy smoke was billowing into the sky and forming a great cloud that slowly wafted toward the camp.

"He has started a forest fire!" Hochstetter yelled.

"Get some of the guards to go out and fight that fire before it takes over this camp, Hochstetter! The rest of them will have to search the area for Klink!"

Hochstetter raged on as he followed the General's orders. Meanwhile, he scanned the passing men for Sergeant Schultz, now even less convinced that the guard had nothing to do with Hogan's disappearance, now that his commanding officer had also mysteriously vanished right before his trial. He would have to deal with the incompetent fool when this wild night was under control.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Mission accomplished, sir," Newkirk reported to Hogan, as the American struggled to push his grogginess away. How long had he been asleep?

"Good. Where is he?" Hogan asked.

"Still at the other end of the tunnel, sir."

"Okay. Well, don't let him down this end yet. We're going to need to break this to him gently. What does he think is going on?"

"Well... nothing yet, gov'nor. He's still unconscious."

"Unconscious?" Hogan repeated loudly, then winced at the impact that had on his head. "Newkirk, what did you _do_?"

"Sorry, Colonel, but he was starting to shout for the guard, and we would have been caught dead to rights."

Hogan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand gently. "You did the right thing," he admitted, grimacing. "Everyone else okay?"

"_Oui_, Colonel," came the voice of Le Beau. He appeared from another tunnel that spilled back toward this main passageway. "I saw Kinch sneak back this way before the alarms went off. And Carter is on his way."

"Hey, fellas, did you see that?" As if on cue, Carter's voice boomed through the underground area, and he showed up only seconds later, practically bursting with pride and unexpended energy. "I watched until I saw Louis go back down into the tunnel, and then I heard the dogs going crazy—you know, really barking up a storm, like they'd seen a real cat or something—and then I set those smoke bombs off all over the place! The Germans are going to go nuts trying to fight a fire that isn't there!" he said.

Hogan nodded tiredly. "What's going on upstairs?"

"The whole area's lousy with Krauts," Le Beau reported. "I saw Burkhalter trying to pull on his boots while he was screaming at Hochstetter about not being able to keep hold of anyone in the cooler here. The two of them are trying to organize a search for Klink."

Kinch appeared from the barracks. "Thanks to your idea of cutting through the bars, Colonel, Hochstetter is sure Klink took a more orthodox route out of the cell and is heading out to the woods somewhere."

"Did you cut the barbed wire on that side of the perimeter?"

"Yes, sir; right near the guard tower."

"Good; that'll take the heat off the prisoners for awhile." Hogan said. He tried to pretend he didn't see Wilson watching him for the signs of fatigue Hogan was trying to hide.

"Krauts are yelling for roll call!" a voice from above warned suddenly.

"You'd better go; they're probably looking for accomplices. Hurry up and get back in position. I'll look after Klink myself." Wilson gave a start of protest, but Hogan silenced him before he began, holding up a hand. "No one will miss me at roll call," he said. "But they're bound to notice if these four aren't there. And we can't leave Klink on his own."

Wilson nodded, defeated by Hogan's logic. Promising a swift return, the men scurried to change and get outside. Slowly, and with considerable discomfort, Hogan eased himself out of the cot. Wilson supported Hogan as he swayed unsteadily on his feet; then Hogan pulled away. "They'd miss you, too, Joe. I'd better do this on my own," he said. Wilson looked unconvinced. "Considering what he tried to do for me, the least I can do is explain."

"Well at least do me a favor—explain while you're sitting down. You're weak as a kitten, and you still have a fever. I don't need to have you deteriorate on me."

"You have my word," Hogan promised. "If I'm not standing up I'll be sitting down."

"That's very comforting," Wilson quipped. He shook his head as he watched Hogan drape his bomber jacket over his shoulders tenderly, perch his crush cap cockily on his head, and stumble with clear frailty down the tunnel to his new companion in exile.


	19. Captive Kommandant

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink's eyes widened as a figure slowly came into view in the dimness. He had woken up a short time ago, not really sure what had happened, but with a dull ache at the back of his neck to assure him that something real had occurred. But he had not moved, too scared to venture away from where he was, and anyway he couldn't seem to find his monocle.

What he thought he saw now made him wonder if he had been hit too hard. "Hogan?" he dared to whisper.

"Welcome to purgatory," came the familiar American voice.

Klink sat up straighter on the floor of the tunnel so he could get a better look. As the figure approaching in the gloom became more distinct, Klink started to make out details: a slow, unsteady walk that nonetheless retained that confident gait that occasionally drove Klink mad with frustration at its owner. The man had only his left arm pushed through the sleeve of his jacket; the right, splinted hand he held cushioned protectively against a torso swathed in bandages under an unbuttoned shirt. Klink studied the face as it came into view: it was bruised and weary, but under that cap there was no doubt who it was. "Hogan—how did you get here?"

The American stopped a few feet away from Klink. "Let's just say I didn't like the accommodation at the Gestapo Hilton," he said. He let a silence pass between them. "Are you all right?"

Klink suddenly decided that he didn't want to be sitting on the floor with Hogan standing above him here—wherever "here" was. He pulled himself to his feet. "I will be," he said, brushing himself off.

"You've lost your monocle," observed Hogan, looking casually around. He spied Klink's hat in the corner. "It's probably over there."

Klink looked where Hogan pointed and found his eyepiece sitting inside his hat. He examined it, then replaced it, and put his cap back on his head. "Thank you," he said.

Hogan nodded. "I hear you had a bad day coming up," he said, unsure what to say now that Klink was in front of him.

Klink shook his head. "That's an understatement," he acknowledged. "Tomorrow I am sure I would have been facing the firing squad—for helping you to escape. And I didn't even do that!"

"No, but you wanted to," Hogan said simply. Suddenly the realization of the risk Klink had taken by trying to help him struck full force. Hogan averted his eyes from Klink's continued look of confusion. "You took a real chance for me. Thanks."

Klink nodded. "You didn't listen."

"Actually, I did," Hogan replied. "As a matter of fact, it was all I thought about. But I had other things I had to do first. Duty to country and all."

"Hogan, where are we?"

"You don't want to know."

"Who took me away from the cooler? For that matter, how did they do it? And what about you—how did you get out?"

"Let's just say we both have friends in low places. All you need to know at the moment is that we couldn't let you face the firing squad; you're too important."

Klink's confusion only grew. "Important?" he echoed. "To whom?"

"To the Allies," Hogan answered. The world abruptly started to go fuzzy before Hogan's eyes, his body unaccustomed to the sudden activity after days of recovery. He reached out a hand as if to steady himself against a wall. But the wall wasn't there and he found himself starting to pitch forward, only to be caught by Klink. He grimaced as Klink's arms encircled his sore torso.

"Hogan!" Klink said, concerned. He looked for a place to sit Hogan down. Finally he spied a small, hard chair near where he had been sitting and lowered the American into it.

Hogan sat out the wave of nausea, trying to take deep breaths, and opening his eyes every now and then to see if the spinning had stopped. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he felt sick as a throbbing pain started to make itself felt again. He concentrated for a moment on pushing the hurt to a remote part of his brain, and when he felt he had sufficiently succeeded, he rasped, "Thanks."

"You are not well," Klink said. He tried to see the dressings Hogan sported, but when pictures of Hogan hanging in the cell invaded his memories again, he decided to abandon the examination.

"Let's just say I owe Hochstetter a work-over in a dark alley some day," Hogan replied.

Klink looked around them, trying to figure out where they were, and not remotely succeeding. "Hogan, are we safe here?" he asked.

"Safer than in your mother's womb." Hogan paused, unwilling to say more about it. "Why did you try to help me?"

Klink thought for a moment. "You know, Hogan, I don't think that's a question I can answer right now. I think for the moment I just need to console myself with the knowledge that I did." Hogan nodded, still staring at the floor. "Was it you who got me out of the cooler?"

"I can't talk now," Hogan said suddenly. He was struck with a sudden real fear that he would pass out in front of the Kommandant, and that was something that made him feel very uncomfortable—and vulnerable. "I need to... go lie down."

Klink put out an arm to help Hogan up. "Let me help you," he said. "They have given you a place to rest?"

Hogan frowned as he realized Klink really had no idea what his new circumstances were, and quite possibly thought Hogan didn't either. "Yeah, I have a cot further down the line," he answered vaguely. Hogan got up but did not accept Klink's offered aid. "You'd better stay here for awhile. Things will get clearer soon."

He started to head away, when Klink's worried voice reached his ears. "Hogan—I don't want to be alo—I mean, how long will I be here?"

Hogan turned back and studied Klink's frightened eyes. He wanted to care more than he did, but right now he couldn't concentrate on much more than standing upright. "Get some sleep," he said, not sure how reassuring he was sounding. "You'll be okay here." He pointed to the blanket that Newkirk must have left when he brought Klink here earlier. "That'll keep you warm. I'm sorry, I can't explain right now. I'll see you later when I'm... not so..." _Not so sick_, he thought, hurting. "...so fuzzy on it all myself."

Then, knowing that Klink would be too uncertain to do anything other than what the American had suggested, and knowing the others would be back in a matter of minutes, Hogan staggered back to his cot further down the tunnel, where he collapsed wearily, his mind reeling from this short encounter, and knowing that there would only be more to come.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Ol' Klink's curled up in a ball with his blanket, sleeping like a baby," Newkirk reported as he returned from his trek down the tunnel with Le Beau. "What would have possessed the gov'nor to leave the Kommandant on his own like that?"

"Exhaustion." Wilson spoke over his shoulder as he tended to Hogan, whom the men had found sprawled across his cot on their return. Alarmed, they had had to stop themselves from going topside and grabbing Wilson out of his own formation. When he came below, they had practically dragged him off the ladder and over to their commanding officer.

Kinch nodded as he and Carter stood worriedly nearby, watching Wilson finish his examination. "Is he all right?" asked Carter, who had been unable to stand still the whole time.

Wilson handed Kinch Hogan's jacket and cap. "He'll be fine," he assured the Sergeant. "He hasn't moved around a lot since he's been here; the exertion of going all the way down the tunnel probably just wore him out. His fever's up a bit, but there's no new bleeding or anything, so take it easy. He just needs the sleep."

Kinch yawned. "We all do," he said. He looked down the tunnel toward where they had left Klink. "It's getting crowded down here."

"_Too_ crowded," Wilson agreed. "You fellas go get some sleep. There won't be any less work to do tomorrow."

"We'd better keep a guard on Klink in case he wakes up and decides to go exploring," Le Beau suggested.

"Good idea," Kinch said. "We'll get the men down in shifts. Carter, go tell Olsen he's the lucky first."

"Right, Kinch," Carter said, and he headed up the ladder.

The others headed up slowly, taking deliberate looks at Hogan lying still on the cot before they ascended. Wilson nodded reassuringly when they turned their worried gazes to him, then prepared the second cot he had finally set up downstairs for his own use, and settled in for the night.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"This just smacks of carelessness, Schultz," Newkirk chided the guard the next morning, puffing on his cigarette. "First the Germans lose Colonel Hogan, then they lose Colonel Klink? Makes me glad I'm an enlisted man," he quipped.

"Please, Newkirk, this is very serious. The Gestapo was to have men come to the camp today to try the Kommandant for treason!" Schultz lowered his voice and shook his head sadly. "And the Kommandant will find it difficult out in the woods."

Newkirk nodded. "Is that where they think he's gone, Schultzie?"

Schultz nodded. "_Ja_. The wire was cut near the cooler leading out to the woods." The big man paused, then asked slowly, "That _is_ where he has gone, isn't it?"

"Could be, my dear friend, could be." Newkirk blew a stream of smoke out of his mouth and stubbed out the end of the cigarette on the ground. Schultz absentmindedly picked it up and put it in the nearby trash barrel. "I doubt anyone knows for sure," he added, thinking of the Kommandant asleep in a ball. "Not even 'im. Uh-oh, heads up, mate." Newkirk nodded in the direction of the gate as a staff car pulled up, and an officer exited the vehicle in great haste, heading toward Klink's office. "Looks like the fireworks are about to start."

"I do not like fireworks," Schultz lamented. "This is trouble." Schultz stood up and headed away from the barracks. "Ever since General Burkhalter showed up last week, there has been nothing but trouble."

"I'm with you there, mate."

Newkirk was about to turn back into the hut when he saw Hochstetter come barreling out of the office toward Schultz. His voice carried in the wind, hurting Newkirk's ears as it always did. "Sergeant Schultz! You are to report to General Burkhalter's office immediately!" he ordered.

_It is Kommandant Klink's office_, Schultz thought defensively. "_Jawohl, Herr _Major"

"You will hand your rifle to the guard outside the door," Hochstetter added. "We have many things to ask you."

Schultz's eyes widened. "Who, me?" he asked, a worried look taking over his face.

"Never mind the stalling; get moving."

"_Jawohl, _Major Hochstetter."

Schultz took one last look toward the Englander who was still watching the scene, then started, head lowered, toward the office. Newkirk bolted inside to tell the others, feeling like the world was collapsing around them.


	20. Coming Clean

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_I'm losing control_, Hogan thought, pinching the bridge of his nose in the hopes of relieving some of the tension behind his eyes. Newkirk had just shouted down the tunnel opening that there was now trouble with Sergeant Schultz, and the others had scrambled back to the barracks to find out what was happening, leaving Hogan downstairs with only the cold walls for company. Wilson had gone upstairs to circulate amongst the other prisoners and not arouse suspicion, and Klink was still being watched down near the cooler. _Things are happening all around me, and I can't do anything to dictate how they're affecting the operation._

Hogan sighed heavily. He was getting tired of the décor around him. Though he knew that for the first few days he had been simply physically unable to go anywhere else, he didn't realize how much he would miss being among the action going on above his head. And now, this windowless world was making him feel distinctly claustrophobic. He needed to move. But he was aware enough to know that he wouldn't make it up the ladder without considerable difficulty, even if he could go up there without being seized for execution, which he doubted.

Hogan felt a little stronger after his initial encounter with Klink last night. Fevered sleep had given way to a natural rest, and the soreness had receded enough for him to sit up without taking a break to control his breathing. He tried to recall their conversation, but he had been so tired, and much of it had filtered away with the sweat of fever. What he did know, though, was that he hadn't said very much. And, feeling a pang of guilt, and more than a twinge of loneliness, Hogan decided to revisit the Kommandant now.

Hogan reached for his bomber jacket and slipped his left arm through the sleeve. He considered doing the same with his right, but the bursts of pain from any unexpected impact or twist were still devastating, and he was in no mood to tempt Fate. So he pulled the jacket over his shoulder instead, brushing his left hand across his face in the process. Hogan smiled briefly—he was clean-shaven, and he knew how it must have happened. No one had said a word, but everyone knew how Hogan hated to have stubble on his face. Unable to shave himself because of his injuries, there was only one person who had ever taken on the task for him: Le Beau. The Frenchman would have known it would make Hogan feel better and more in command of himself and his surroundings. He was right, and Hogan was grateful.

Taking it slowly, Hogan made his way down the tunnel toward the cooler. Finally he came across Corporal Hamilton, sitting several feet away from Klink, looking bored. "I'll take over for now, Corporal," Hogan said. Hamilton nodded and left.

Klink was sitting on another chair, wearing his overcoat, hunched over like an old man looking for something on the floor. The blanket he had wrapped himself in last night was folded neatly at his feet with his hat perched on top of it, and someone had lit one of the oil lamps down here to relieve the gloom. He looked up when he heard Hogan's voice.

"They've let you come back down here, Colonel," Klink said.

Hogan raised an eyebrow. So Klink thought they were both prisoners. _You don't know how right you are_, Hogan thought wryly. _Both of us have no place we can go. Yet._ "How did you sleep last night?" he asked simply. Hogan took the chair Hamilton had been sitting in and moved it to within a couple of feet of the German, then sat down. He didn't want a repeat of last night.

"It was cold," Klink complained. Then, as if catching himself, he added, "But at least I am alive."

Hogan nodded. He frowned, trying to think of what to say. He wasn't accustomed to being at a loss for words. But how did he explain to Klink what had been happening under his nose for three years? He closed his eyes.

"Are you all right, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan opened his eyes, surprised at the concern in the voice, and looked at Klink. "I'll be okay," he said.

"Major Hochstetter did terrible things to you, Hogan. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him."

Incongruous images flickered in Hogan's mind—a sharp slap across the face; a field of brilliant yellow flowers; a dazzling knife of pain in his abdomen; a moonlit waltz; a long, low moan as a blackjack found its mark near his kidneys; a scream of agony at the nauseating snap of his finger; "I love you...". Hogan shook his head slowly; his throat was too dry to speak.

"What do you think will happen to us?" Klink asked, sensing the necessity of changing the subject.

"Not much at the moment," Hogan answered, relieved. He braced himself, then launched into what he knew he had to do. "Look, Colonel, I think I need to explain a few things to you."

It was Klink's turn to frown. "Explain a few things?"

"About where you are, and what's going on here."

"Now that I would like to know," Klink answered. "You have been here longer than I have, Hogan. What is going on? And wasn't that Corporal Hamilton sitting here earlier? Have they taken him, too?"

"There is no 'they,'" Hogan replied. "There's us."

Klink took a moment to register what Hogan said. "Us?" he finally asked.

Hogan nodded. "That's right." He waited for the confusion on Klink's face to transform into curiosity. Where to start? "First of all, Kommandant, you haven't left Stalag 13."

"I haven't?" Klink asked, looking around him. "Where are we?"

"We're in a tunnel under the camp," Hogan answered. He paused only briefly as he saw Klink's expression change to one of anger. "We have...several."

"Colonel Hogan, your men have been digging tunnels—" Klink blustered, not sure how to react, and so choosing to take the command route.

"Yeah, and it's a good thing, too. Otherwise you and I would both be six feet under," Hogan retorted, unwillingly becoming irritated at Klink's reaction. "My men got you out through the wall of the cooler, same as they got me out of solitary. We loosened a stone and dug a tunnel from the barracks to the building."

"Loosened a stone—? Hogan, why? I mean, why not dig straight out of camp?"

"Because we had work to do. At least until old Nut Brain up in Berlin decided to change the rules and I had to go into hiding."

"Work?"

Hogan exhaled loudly, exasperated. He wasn't handling this right. He changed tack. "Let me explain it this way," he said, almost formally, calming himself down. _He's not gonna like this, but there's nothing he can do about it now._ "Colonel Klink, the Allies are running a sabotage and intelligence operation out of Stalag 13. The reason you don't know about it is because we function out of a network of tunnels under the camp, with the help of the local Underground. We come and go as we please, except when the Germans pull something unexpected, like you did last week. So we don't really want to go right out, unless we plan to come back in." He paused. "Hochstetter was spot-on when he accused me of being involved in the destruction of the oil refinery the night before he came. It was an assignment from London; that's why I couldn't take you up on your offer of escape before it was too late. I had orders to follow, and I did."

There, it was out. Hogan hadn't done more than glance at Klink during his monologue. Now, he took a moment to study the Kommandant's face. It was blank. "Colonel?" Hogan prompted.

Klink pulled himself from his daze and nearly whispered, "Hogan, are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"Only when it suits the Allied cause, sir."

"Did you really think I'd believe this nonsense you're telling me?" Klink's voice rose a bit in anger. Hogan frowned. "I don't know what you think you're trying to accomplish here, Hogan, but if you're trying to cover up an infraction of the rules by your prisoners with some wild story, it's not going to work."

"It's true, all of it," Hogan answered sharply.

"How could such a thing be true?" Klink protested. "I would have known if something was being planned on such a grand scale. A couple of little tunnels here and there, yes, I can see where that might have escaped detection—after all, prisoners are forever trying to dig tunnels out of camp—but a full scale operation under my feet? Impossible!"

"It's _not_ impossible; it's true, and you're in it!" Hogan said, annoyed. _Damn it, why won't he just listen?_ "We've been at it for almost three years—we started a couple of months after I got here. Why do you think I let Oskar Schnitzer bring me back into camp when I escaped?—I needed to bring in radio parts. Then when London asked me to run the operation, I agreed."

"The veterinarian?" Klink asked.

"A member of the local Underground," Hogan snapped back. He considered. "I'm only telling you this because you're going to have to go the same route that a lot of our downed Allied flyers go—if we don't get you back to London, the Germans will shoot you. And we can't afford to let that happen. You know too much."

Even through his bewilderment, Klink could hear what appeared to be a compliment. "I know too much?" he asked, hopeful.

"_Way_ too much," Hogan answered. "But don't get that look on your face—you don't even know you know it." Klink opened his mouth to answer, then shut it when he realized he didn't know what to say. Hogan shrugged. "They used you and a few other people to keep information they needed, just in case."

Klink recovered in time to scoff. "Ridiculous!" he said.

"Oh yeah? Ask Burkhalter. He told Hochstetter all about it, before Hochstetter said not to worry about it and to have you shot anyway." Klink paused. Hogan continued. "You want to take that chance?"

Klink seemed to shrink a bit as he thought of his options. "No. No, not really."

Hogan forced himself to ease off. _This is so surreal_, he thought. _I never thought I'd be explaining this to Klink this way_. "Look, I know it's a lot to digest in one hit. But the truth is, Kommandant, that the Germans consider you dispensable now, and the Allies consider you _in_dispensable. You probably don't want to go forward, but you sure as hell can't go back, unless you want to be shot."

Klink nodded, swallowed. His world was emptying out before him and he couldn't think of what to do. "I know."

"And I can't go back, either. So like it or not, we're roommates." Hogan stood up and realized how tired this encounter had left him. "Later on, you can come back down to the other end of the tunnel. I'll show you around, and you can be kept there in relative comfort until the coast is clear and we can ship you back to London." He turned to go back to his bunk, then faced Klink again. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way," he said sincerely. "It wasn't the plan. I was hoping you'd never find out."

"Of course," Klink said.

Hogan couldn't miss the note of sarcasm in Klink's voice. "Not just because it was a secret operation, but because I didn't want you to think we were playing you for a fool."

"But you _were_, Hogan. You _were_."

"Actually, I was playing more on your ego." Hogan paused. "And your humanity. We would have been goners many times if you hadn't stood up for the prisoners. You've been a fair Kommandant, Colonel. It was a little less difficult to stay here under your command."

Klink seemed to take some comfort in the words. "Is that true, Hogan?"

Hogan nodded. "Yes, it is." Hogan stood up. "Listen, I'm gonna go back up the other end. When you're ready, follow the tunnel till you get to me. It's a simple system, no turnoffs. I'll answer any questions you have."

Klink's face remained shell-shocked. "Thank you, Hogan," he said. What else could he say?

Hogan nodded once in acknowledgment, less than happy with having to burst Klink's balloon as he had, but knowing he owed at least an explanation to the Kommandant, who had, after all, tried to save his life. "You're welcome."

Hogan cradled his right arm as he felt his fingers and wrist starting to ache again, then turned on his heel and purposefully walked away.


	21. The Next Target

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Sergeant Schultz stood in front of the desk in Klink's office at full attention. Surrounded by brass, he was in no fit state to relax. He had handed his rifle to the guard outside as ordered, and had saluted the officers in the room with a trembling hand. He tried not to let his voice shake as he answered their questions.

"Exactly how long have you known Kommandant Klink now, Sergeant?" asked Hochstetter.

Schultz tried to calculate time. "Three and a half years, _Herr_ Major. We were both assigned here when Stalag 13 was opened."

"And during that time, Sergeant, you have developed a close relationship with him?"

Schultz let his mind flicker over the time he had been working under Klink's command. "_Herr_ Major, there were time that the Kommandant said I was like a _son_ to him. But other times, I felt somewhat disinherited."

"So you feel very strongly about the Kommandant."

"Oh, yes, _Herr _Major!"

"And how did you feel when he was arrested and placed in the cooler?" Hochstetter asked politely.

Schultz shook his head sadly. "Oh, that was very, very sad. You see, Kommandant Klink is not used to the cold, and it is not a warm place to be. Without his gloves, his fingers would have cracked—"

Hochstetter waved for Schultz to stop his descriptions, and the guard lapsed into silence. Burkhalter spoke up from behind the desk. "I think what the Major is trying to find out, Sergeant, is if you took any action when Kommandant Klink was arrested that would be considered... unusual."

"Unusual, _Herr_ General?" Schultz repeated, uncertain.

The other officer in the room, clearly exasperated with the proceedings, spoke up. "Did you or did you not help Kommandant Klink to escape from the cooler?" he asked sharply.

"_Nein, Herr Oberst!_" Schultz denied vehemently. "_Nein_, I did my duty!"

"Now, now, Colonel Hassler," Burkhalter interjected smoothly. He could see that the questioning was unnerving the Sergeant, and he believed he could get farther with Schultz with gentleness rather than abruptness. "There is no need to upset Sergeant Schultz. He has always proven himself to be a loyal—if not somewhat oblivious—soldier of the Third Reich."

"_Danke_,_ Herr_ General," Schultz said.

General Burkhalter grimaced, as though Schultz had just proven his point. "There is no reason to believe that he did anything but his duty the night that Colonel Klink disappeared."

But Hassler wasn't having any of it. "And what about the night your American officer disappeared? Your prison cells seem to have magic walls that fade away at night!" he mocked. "You are trying to tell me that this man would know nothing about any of this? Why, he was on duty at the time that the prisoner escaped. And as there was no indication that the walls had dissolved, and since this man had the only key to solitary confinement, it does not take a genius to figure out what must have happened!"

"No, no, _Herr Oberst_!" Schultz said, starting to feel dizzy. "No, I did not unlock Colonel Hogan's cell, I _swear_ to you. It would be worth my life!"

"It may yet be," Hochstetter interjected. Schultz shuddered. "But at this stage, I agree with General Burkhalter. Sergeant Schultz may be of more use out of prison than in. He certainly understands how Klink's mind works. Perhaps with the Sergeant's help we can track down the missing Kommandant in time for his trial."

"From what you say, Major Hochstetter, it sounds like he and the American Colonel are probably together."

"I don't think so," Burkhalter disagreed. "Colonel Hogan would have been in no condition to help Klink to escape. And since, after all, they are on opposite sides of the war, it would not be likely that they would have been helped by the same people." Burkhalter stood up. "Colonel Hassler, I am afraid your visit here has been wasted. You came expecting to put Colonel Klink on trial for treason, and instead you have found a shambles."

"My report to Berlin will be most unfavorable, you can be sure of that," Hassler said. "Here you are, protecting an inconsequential Sergeant of the Guard, in a camp where both you and the head of the local Gestapo were in charge at the time that two vitally important prisoners escaped; I can only imagine what the repercussions will be. Perhaps there will be a trial on charges of treason after all. But with _you_ as the defendant!"

With a quick salute to Burkhalter, Hassler turned on his heel and left. Burkhalter turned to Hochstetter, stunned. Schultz stood trembling, trying to figure out who to salute. "Major Hochstetter," Burkhalter hissed, "you will find Klink. Or you will find yourself facing more than just a trial."

Hochstetter himself, normally not prone to panic when threatened by anyone, had turned slightly pale. Despite his outward appearance during the interrogation of Sergeant Schultz, he was smart enough to know that his own career—indeed, his own life—could be at stake, and for more than one reason. Berlin was expecting a report indicating that the Fuhrer's orders to eliminate all enemy air corps officers had been followed, something that he could not declare. To make matters worse, the person whom he could point the finger of blame at for this failure was also missing. And Hochstetter had been in camp the whole time, so there was no chance of him being declared innocent of any part of the fiasco. _I should have known that Stalag 13 would be the place where it all fell apart on me_, he thought. "We will find Klink," he assured the General. "I will not rest until he is brought to trial."

Burkhalter turned to Schultz. "Captain Eichberger will have the final say in what he does with you, Sergeant. If you are lucky, he will still consider you trustworthy enough to remain Sergeant of the Guard. If you are not, then you may find yourself wishing you had disappeared along with Colonel Klink and Hogan." _I know I'm beginning to wish I could have_.

"_Jawohl, Herr_ General," Schultz answered weakly. "Am I dismissed?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, Sergeant. You may be pleased to know there are no prisoners in the cooler at the moment. So there is no chance of anything else unusual happening."

Schultz saluted, feeling sweat dripping down the back of his neck. "No, General Burkhalter, nothing unusual at all." He backed out of the office, grabbed his rifle, and practically ran back to his post. He would have to talk to the prisoners in Barracks Two as soon as he knew he wasn't being watched. Schultz could honestly say this time that he knew nothing, but he knew that wasn't the case with Hogan's men. And what they knew might very well save Klink's life—or his own.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch pulled the plug out of the coffee pot, absently thinking that they were going to need a new cord soon with the work out this one was getting lately.

"That's bad," Newkirk observed. "They're going after Schultz now."

"Burkhalter seemed to stand up for him a bit. But we've gotta be careful," Kinch warned.

"Yeah, I mean Schultz knows a lot more than nothing," Carter added.

"And it will not take a lot to get it out of him," Le Beau predicted. "One session with Hochstetter and it's the end of the tunnels—and the end of us."

"Looks like it's all gonna depend on this Captain Eichberger," Kinch said. "Let's just hope he's more even minded than Hochstetter. And that Burkhalter can hold up against him _and_ Hochstetter if he's not."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"We can't just have Schultz disappear, too; Stalag 13's going to start to look like the Bermuda Triangle." Hogan's mind started spinning when he heard what had just transpired in Klink's office. "On the other hand, we know he's a weak link. He's held up pretty well so far, but he hasn't had to go a full round with Hochstetter either." Hogan furrowed his brow. "Okay," he said finally. "We have to think of the future of the operation. Things haven't been going very well so far. London's been quiet," he said, with more than a hint of anger in his voice, "we've got the Gestapo all over us, and now we've got Klink to think about, too. That list he has is too important to the Allies to just let him go. We can't take any chances on something happening to him, and we can't take him out now." Hogan sighed. "So," he continued, "what to do about Schultz—to be fair to them both, we have to admit that if it weren't for him and Klink, we wouldn't have survived as long as we have. We owe it to them to keep them out of harm's way."

He paused, clearly debating all the factors involved. Hogan's men watched him carefully. "Kinch, what have you been able to find out about Eichberger?"

"Not much, Colonel. All we could get was that he's a real live wire. He's Luftwaffe, but he's come up through the ranks pretty quickly. Not known for his bedside manner, but nothing stands out about him, either."

Hogan nodded, still thinking. "Okay. We'll watch what happens tomorrow. If he turns up the heat too high, we'll have to get Schultz out, too." He turned to Le Beau. "Louis, I'm afraid this might mean some extra cooking for you. Think you can handle it?"

"It would take three chefs to handle it, Colonel. But you can count on me."

Hogan smiled. "I knew I could. Let's just hope it doesn't come to this. The more obvious we make our actions, the less chance we're giving the operation to survive. And I'm still hoping we—_you_—can come out on top of this, somehow. Me? My work is nearly done, right? Thanks to ol' Scramble Brains I get to duck out early, even if I am a little worse for wear."

Carter looked closely at Hogan, who seemed to be visibly melting. "You look tired, Colonel."

Hogan smiled patiently. "Always in with a compliment, Carter," he said.

"Sorry, Colonel—but you do." Newkirk shoved him a little less than gently. "Well he does!" Carter protested.

"Nice one, Carter. Don't you think the gov'nor—?"

Hogan held up a hand. "Never mind, Newkirk. I'm sure it was said out of concern for my welfare."

"Yeah!" Carter piped up.

"And yes, I am tired, and yes, I am going to bed. Louis, make something special for Klink tonight; he's had quite a trying day. I just told him about the operation and he's in a bit of denial. Go easy on him, but don't let him leave, whatever you do."

"Does he know about the list, Colonel?" Newkirk asked.

"No. All he knows is, he's important to the Allies and we can't let him out of here." A now familiar wave of tiredness swept over Hogan, and he sat down. "I'll explain more only on a need to know basis."

Hogan groaned in relief as he lay his head down on the cot. Staying up and alert for so long had used up more energy than he had expected. "Get some rest, Colonel," Le Beau urged.

"I plan to," Hogan said. "Just watch out for Klink and Schultz... and the bad guys... and you'd better blow up a bridge or two once the goons have cleared out... otherwise they'll know for sure it was me. And we can't... let Hochstetter win...." Hogan's voice drifted until the men realized he had fallen asleep. Then they went their separate ways, to carry out their work, and hope for a future different from the only one they could imagine now.


	22. The New Kid on the Block

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

General Burkhalter was accepting Schultz's report that all the prisoners were present and accounted for at morning roll call when a black, shiny staff car pulled into camp. He dismissed the prisoners and turned toward the car, which parked just outside Klink's office, and greeted the officer who emerged from the vehicle.

Hogan's men hovered near the barracks, straining to see what was going on without seeming too obvious. "Look at that," Newkirk said as he struggled to read the lips of the Germans. "Nice shiny medals he's wearing, isn't he?"

"That must be Captain Eichberger," Kinch decided. "He certainly looks spiffy. Wonder whose boots he shined to get where he is."

"He probably licked them clean," Le Beau sneered. "All dirty Boche are the same."

Schultz, who had been lingering near the prisoners, said, "That man will decide what happens to me." He looked at the men hopefully. He had not had a chance to speak with them before now. "Major Hochstetter and that Colonel Hassler, they think I was involved in getting Kommandant Klink out of the cooler. He _did_ just escape on his own, didn't he? I did not help do this, did I?"

The men looked at each other guiltily. They had gotten so used to using Schultz as a dupe that this time, when he was not involved, he stood a real chance of getting into serious trouble. "No, Schultzie, you did not help him get out," Le Beau said. His face brightened as an idea came to him. "How about a nice plate of strudel? I will make it for you this morning, okay?"

Schultz smiled briefly. "Ah, Cockroach...yes, strudel would be _wunderbar_," he said, drawing out the word as though he were stretching a piece of taffy. The grin disappeared suddenly, though, as other thoughts crowded his mind. "I wonder if they will let me have that when I am standing at the Russian Front...or in front of the firing squad."

"Aw, don't think like that, Schultz," Kinch admonished him gently. "You know there's gotta be a way out. You're innocent, after all."

"_You_ know that—so you say. And_ I_ know that—I think. But the big boys, _they_ do not know that." He shook his head. "General Burkhalter told me that it would be up to Captain Eichberger to decide whether I stay here... or go someplace else."

Carter patted Schultz on the shoulder as the big man slumped against the building beside him. "Don't worry, Schultz. You know Colonel Hogan always has a plan—"

"Carter!" Newkirk scolded, pushing him as Schultz's eyes widened. He tried to cover up the gaffe quickly. "Never mind that, Schultzie, you know how Carter's always living in the past. We'd love the gov'nor to come up with a plan, but you know how it is when someone _leaves_," he finished through his teeth; "_it's hard to imagine them not being here_."

Schultz nodded, not sure if he believed what the Englander was saying but wanting to. "_Ja_," said, thinking of his own missing commanding officer. "It is." He sighed and pulled away from the wall. "I must get back to my post. While I still have one."

Schultz departed, his head hung lower than the men had seen in a long time. "Poor Schultzie. He's in a real mess," Le Beau said.

"Yeah, and with this Eichberger around it could be a real sticky wicket," Newkirk added. "I wouldn't want to be in that office with all of them."

"I'm surprised Schultz didn't faint yesterday," Kinch declared. "All that hot air blowing around Klink's office."

"Should we listen in on the proceedings?" Newkirk asked.

"They are probably expecting us to be outside for exercise period," Le Beau said, shaking his head. "We'd better make ourselves visible for awhile."

Kinch grimaced but agreed. "We've been awfully scarce lately. We've gotta watch ourselves; Hochstetter's starting to give us the eye whenever he comes by. The last thing we need is to be more closely watched. I'm sure we'll find out the result of their conversation soon enough anyway."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Captain Eichberger, welcome to Stalag 13."

"_Danke_, General Burkhalter. I am looking forward to my time here." The Captain, barely forty and trim to military perfection, was standing in full regalia in front of his superior officer. "I understand that this has been a very special camp—no escapes, ever. A fine record I hope to continue."

Burkhalter raised an eyebrow, nodding. "I am sure you will," he said, ignoring the two escapes that brought Eichberger here in the first place. "Now, you understand why you are assuming command."

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ General. The previous Kommandant of this camp is up on charges of treason. Will his trial be held here?"

Burkhalter shifted uncomfortably before answering. "At some stage that would be desirable. There is much that can be used as evidence right here in the camp. However, the timing is uncertain at this stage, as there has been a hitch in the proceedings."

"A hitch?"

Burkhalter plastered a smile on his face. "Don't concern yourself with this at the moment, Eichberger. All you need to be aware of at this time is that former Kommandant Klink was allegedly responsible for the Gestapo not being able to carry out the Fuhrer's orders to eliminate all enemy air corps officers, including the one in this camp, Colonel Hogan."

Eichberger raised an eyebrow. "He interfered with the Fuhrer's directive?"

"So it would seem."

"So where is this Colonel Hogan now?"

"That is a question we would also like answered. Someone has helped him to get away from camp. We have strong reason to believe that someone is Klink. The Gestapo has been crawling through the woods around this camp for nearly two weeks, without a trace of Hogan. We can only surmise that he has now been taken by the Underground. A thorough search is still underway in Hammelburg, to make sure no one is harboring him." Burkhalter moved to the counter, where one of Klink's ever-present decanters of schnapps was sitting. "In the meantime, Eichberger, tell me about yourself." He poured two glasses of the drink, and handed one to the Captain, a clear invitation to relax in front of his superior. "What is your background?"

"Well, General, I joined the Luftwaffe a few months ago. At first, I was given small tasks—you know, the usual administrative duties in a small office in Düsseldorf. You see, an old injury stopped me from being fit to go to the front lines or into a plane. But thankfully someone in the office could see that I had much more ambition than to be a paper warrior and helped me to get some more interesting work to do. I apparently showed some aptitude for command, and was put in charge of different divisions of the administration. Eventually I worked at Stalag 7, just for a short time, under Kommandant Klein, to learn the ins and outs of being in a prison camp with these Allied swine. And though I do not relish the idea of being thought of as a swineherd, I am committed to doing my part to keep them in their place—below my feet."

Burkhalter listened with some admiration to the young officer. Though he wasn't a fighting man, he was certainly the type of person the Luftwaffe wanted. If anyone could bring these Allied prisoners into line, Burkhalter had a feeling Eichberger could. He drained his glass. "Very good, Eichberger. There is one other matter you need to attend to as you assume command of Stalag 13."

Eichberger took another small sip of his drink. Burkhalter noticed he had not drunk much of his schnapps. Perhaps the man didn't want to appear inebriated in front of his superior officer—or maybe he simply didn't care for it and had been too intimidated to refuse the glass when it was offered. "Of course, _Herr _General."

"There is the matter of your Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz. It seems that he was guarding solitary confinement at the time that Colonel Hogan disappeared without a trace. Only he and Colonel Klink had keys to that area. Then, when Klink vanished as well, of course Schultz was under suspicion. The Gestapo is most interested in how he may have been involved."

Eichberger's eyes bulged. "Colonel Klink has vanished?" he asked. Burkhalter nodded once, grimly. "This is what you are calling a 'hitch'?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But the issue now is the future of your Sergeant of the Guard. Without any real evidence against him, we have decided to leave Schultz out of the investigation for the moment. However, if you feel that your work would be undermined by his presence, we will have him removed."

Eichberger frowned, deep in thought. "How well does this Sergeant Schultz get along with the prisoners?"

Burkhalter snorted. "Almost too well."

"Then leave him as he is," Eichberger decided. "We can use him to extract information from the prisoners. If they trust him, they will confide in him, and if they know anything, eventually we will as well."

Burkhalter smiled. He liked the way this man thought. "Very good, Captain. I can see that this camp will run very well under your command."

"And, General," Eichberger added, while the moment was his, "could you please call off the Gestapo? It will only aggravate the prisoners. And, quite frankly, if they have not been able to find anything here in the last two weeks, chances are they won't find anything tomorrow, or the day after." He shook his head. "A shame. I had always considered the Gestapo to be such a competent outfit."

Burkhalter remained silent. _You haven't spent much time with Major Hochstetter, then_, he wanted to say. But of course he knew he couldn't. So he simply nodded his agreement. "Very well. We want to make sure all goes smoothly as you take over Stalag 13. Major Hochstetter and his men will be out of camp tomorrow."

"Very good, sir. _Danke_." Eichberger put his still mainly untouched glass down on the desk. "Sir, may I ask for a formation of the prisoners earlier than normal today, so I may see what type of—" He paused to cough mockingly, "—_men_, are in this camp?"

Burkhalter nodded approvingly. "Whatever you wish, Captain. This is your camp now. I will send for Sergeant Schultz, and he will assemble the prisoners."

"Good. I should like to meet this Sergeant Schultz. I have a feeling he will be very valuable to me, in more ways than one."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Bored. _Bored, bored, **bored**_. Hogan blew out a breath as he sat at the desk housing the radio equipment, carelessly dealing out cards in a never-ending game of solitaire. He struggled with the deck as he wasn't used to working solely left handed, and he got unreasonably angry when one card fluttered to the floor as it fumbled out of his awkward grip. Hogan bent over very slowly to retrieve it, not wanting a familiar wave of dizziness to help him join the errant four of clubs on the cold earth.

Hogan put the card on the table and stood up, tenderly rubbing his abdomen. Wilson kept telling him he was making good progress, but some days he didn't feel like he had, and this was one of them. Oh, his injuries were healing up nicely, that much was true, but it was more than his body that had been humiliated by Hochstetter and his men. His mind had been attacked, too. Hogan was grateful that he could not remember all of what had happened to him down in solitary confinement. But enough of the torturous imprisonment came back to him to make him want to curl up in a ball on his cot, something he would have done if it didn't cause him unreasonable amounts of pain.

It was the laughter that was taunting him now. The low, gravelly sound of Hochstetter's sick pleasure at Hogan's pain. The thin smile that cut through the Colonel as he was forced to endure the unendurable. The half-closed, merciless eyes that bored into Hogan as he sank to depths of pain he could not escape, and that they both knew would only lead to death in the end—later, when Hochstetter was finished with Hogan himself. The falsely sweet voice holding out a thin, old slice of bread, that Hochstetter had known Hogan would take, if the American wanted to hold out any longer against the onslaught. And despite his wish for a quick death, Hogan had succumbed to the desperate instinct to stay alive, and so he had tried to ignore those eyes and that laugh, and grabbed the bread with an intensity that surprised even himself, pushing the humiliation that came with the act to the very back of his mind.

Until now. Hogan sat down on his cot and, suddenly overcome, he put his head in his hands and started sobbing. The tears pushed their way out with all the force of his pain and fears behind them, unleashing all the agony and despair he had hidden from everyone, including himself, up to now. His chest heaved with the release, and in time he did curl up into a ball on the cot, but he felt nothing. The numbness of his body eventually spread to his mind, and he moved into an uneasy sleep, filled with abusive dreams and distorted images that would not let him escape from the torture for even a fleeting moment.


	23. Change of Guard, Change of Heart

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The men of Barracks Two stood uneasily outside their hut as the German officer paced slowly back and forth in front of them. Schultz had called them to formation awhile ago, and so far this new man to the camp had said not a word to them, choosing instead to study them as though watching lab rats in a cage.

Newkirk shifted restlessly. "Blimey, Schultz, it's cold out here. When are you going to let us go? At least at exercise period we can move around to keep warm."

At the sound of Newkirk's voice, Eichberger stopped pacing and faced him. "You are cold, Englander?" he asked.

Le Beau felt a shiver run down his spine, not from the weather, but from the ice in Eichberger's voice.

Newkirk shrugged, suddenly uncertain. "Well, sir, it's not that I'm complaining, you see, it's just that the cold dries out my skin," he said, half jokingly.

"You are speaking in formation," Eichberger answered. "That is _verboten_. You will spend three days in the cooler for this infraction of the rules. And if you think it is cold outside, it will seem like we are in the tropics by the time you get out of there."

Newkirk made to protest. Eichberger held up his hand. "You would do well to learn your lesson the first time, Englander. Otherwise you may find yourself with dry skin—permanently." He turned to Schultz. "Sergeant, you will take him now."

"_Jawohl, Herr _Captain." Schultz approached Newkirk with regret in his face. "Come, Newkirk, I have to take you to the cooler."

Newkirk mumbled, "It's okay, Schultz, I know it's not your fault." He passed Eichberger, not trying to hide his contempt, and glanced fleetingly back at his comrades. "See you in three, fellas."

The others nodded, trying to look encouraging without saying anything to irritate the new Kommandant. Eichberger turned to the others. "As for the rest of you," he said, "I will trust that you are smart enough not to follow the example set for you by the Englander. Any further infractions of the rules will be treated even more harshly, now that one of your own pigs has been put in a private pen." Eichberger laughed at his own joke.

Burkhalter turned to him. "These men used to share their barracks with Colonel Hogan. You will probably find them to be the most disruptive of the men here, since he had close relationships with many of them."

"Yes?" Eichberger replied, his eyes showing a new interest as he studied his charges. He turned and walked the line again, staring even more closely at the group. It did not escape his notice that the sullen eyes staring back at him were often brimming with ill-concealed hatred, but it did not bother him, and he looked back, letting a thin smile cross his lips. "A sloppy bunch of tin soldiers," he proclaimed. "Hardly the cream of any crop. Now that these sheep are without a shepherd, they will be no trouble for me, General Burkhalter. Of that I can assure you. Look at this one!" he said, pulling Le Beau out of line.

The Frenchman tried to pull away, but Eichberger had him by the scarf, and struggling was only making it tighter around his neck. "This is hardly a danger to the Third Reich. Oh, maybe to some farmer's imbecile daughter, perhaps, but not to our fine military machine."

Le Beau's anger brought strong color into his cheeks as Eichberger spoke. He said nothing but continued to pull back at his scarf until the German released it with a laugh, sending Le Beau sprawling toward the other prisoners. "_Boche_," Le Beau spat under his breath.

The word didn't escape Eichberger, and he whirled back toward the assembly. "Say it again, pig," he hissed at Le Beau, towering over him, crowding him so he could not move.

Le Beau stared back, the anger in his eyes shooting flames toward his antagonist. "I said you are a—"

"Louis!" cried Kinch, grabbing him by the arm before he could finish.

Eichberger laughed again. "Yes, you little piglet—listen to your black _Mutterschwein_." Kinch shook with rage but he knew better than to speak now. Eichberger smiled benignly. "Perhaps you will learn in time that I am not to be toyed with. You may have been protected by your precious Colonel Hogan, and coddled by Kommandant Klink, but you will not find that with me. The sooner you learn that lesson, the better for you. But feel free to take your time; I am quite happy to continue teaching you if you refuse to study." He turned to another guard standing nearby. "Dismiss these things; get them out of my sight."

"_Jawohl, Herr_ Captain."

The men broke formation and headed back to the relative warmth of the barracks, feeling more like real prisoners of war than ever before.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan was just waking up, and feeling just as tired as when he had fallen asleep, when he heard footsteps approaching from the other end of the tunnel. He sat up to see Klink making his way tentatively toward him. "Hogan?"

Hogan nodded. "Kommandant," he said in reply.

Klink stopped and looked around him, taking in the desk, the radio equipment, the oil lamps, the ladder. He shook his head, as though dazed. "So it's true..." he breathed. "You really _do_ have a..."

"An operation running down here? Well, we did have, at least until your pals in Berlin started getting exclusive about what officers they let into their little Stalag country clubs." Hogan nodded toward the desk chair. "Have a seat."

Klink went toward the chair, but was distracted by the radio. He followed a wire up the wall until it disappeared into the ceiling. "Where does this go?" he asked, pointing to it.

"To your office," Hogan answered. Klink's face took on a look of astonishment. "We needed an antenna, so we've got one in the flagpole. Ever wonder why we don't mind when you raise that hideous Nazi flag of yours?"

Klink opened his mouth to respond, then decided against it. "Hogan, what is all this?" he asked.

"I told you—sabotage and intelligence. A traveler's aid society for escaped prisoners and downed flyers. Anything London wants us to do."

"I do not understand how it is possible," Klink said, still disbelieving. "Where does this ladder go?"

"Up to the barracks."

"_Your barracks_?" Klink breathed in wonderment.

"That's right."

Klink grabbed the chair and sat down in it before he fell down. "So Hochstetter was right," he said. "I have been a fool."

Hogan was too tired to argue. "Maybe you just didn't want to see," he said.

"Then I was a fool _and_ a traitor," Klink said bitterly. "Are all the prisoners part of this?"

"Not all of them; we only tell people what they need to know. The rule when they come in is No Escapes. If they want to try it, I organize a transfer and they're on their way—from someplace else."

"No escapes? Why?"

Hogan paused, knowing how this would sound to the proud German. "If we lost you, you might be replaced with someone I'd have less... influence... over. And then we'd have a bigger chance of having to shut down. With you in place we knew we could accomplish what we needed to."

"In other words, with an ineffectual man behind the desk you could run circles around the Germans."

"We're saving lives," Hogan said, starting to feel a prick of anger. "We're ending the war sooner."

"For the Allies," Klink accused.

"Of course for the Allies," Hogan snapped, irritable. "Do you honestly think a nut case like Hitler could fairly run the country, much less the world?"

Klink's first instinct was to stand up for the leader of his Fatherland. But as thoughts raced through his head, he swallowed the patriotism. "No," he whispered. "No, Hogan, I do not."

"Look what he's doing now—ordering the deaths of hundreds of men just because they have rank. What would stop him from ordering the massacre of thousands, or even millions, of others because of something they have no control over?"

Klink nodded. "You are right, Hogan. But it is my duty to defend my country. I love Germany."

"Then help it. Help get it away from this idiot."

"How?" Klink asked.

Hogan paused. "You have information the Allies need, Kommandant. Take the trip back to England willingly."

"You have said this before, Hogan—but I do not know of any such information that would help the Allies." Klink paused. "Nor do I know that I want to."

Hogan understood, but he stood his ground. "You won't have much choice in the end. We're going to get you to England, and you're going to give us what we need. Your cooperation would be wonderful, but it's not essential."

"And how are you going to do that?" Klink asked, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Hogan sighed. He'd had enough. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted. If Klink had not been so wrapped up in his own emotions, he would have noticed that Hogan was also being overwhelmed by his. The American shook his head wearily. "That's going to depend on Major Hochstetter, and on your replacement. And since I seem to be striking out lately, I'm not about to place any bets on what either of them is capable of."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau whipped off his scarf and threw it on his bunk like it was contaminated. Carter approached him with soft steps and said quietly, "I'm sorry about what happened outside, Louis. Are you all right?"

Le Beau's face remained tight with anger, but he turned to his friend with words that he tried to keep civil. "_Oui_. _Merci, mon ami._" He looked at Kinch, who was fuming near the stove, gripping a cup so tightly that Le Beau could have sworn he saw the Sergeant's knuckles go white. "_Merci_, Kinch, for stepping in."

Kinch poured coffee into the cup with short, angry motions, causing some to spill over the rim and onto the floor. He didn't take notice. "I wish I didn't have to, Louis. I would have loved for you to do exactly what you were thinking." He stared at the bunk behind Le Beau, where he knew below their commanding officer was trapped. The anger whispered in his ears and tempted him to do irrational things, but he fought it down with the thought of Hogan's cool temperament under pressure. "But all it would have done was get you the same as Newkirk—or worse."

"Poor Peter," Carter said. "Stuck in the cooler for three days! Gee, _Klink_ never did that when we spoke up."

"Klink isn't Eichberger. And there's no Colonel Hogan to intervene on our behalf, now, is there?" Kinch reminded him.

"No. Gee, I guess I didn't realize how much we depended on the Colonel to keep us out of trouble."

"I think that's something we'd better remember while we feel out Eichberger in the next few days," Le Beau declared. He tossed his beret on the bunk and moved toward the stove. "In the meantime I will make Newkirk something special to eat while he is down there, and the Colonel, too."

"What about us?" Carter asked.

"Why not? We all deserve something special for putting up with these filthy _Boche_. I will make a gourmet meal for all of us." _And when I am mashing the potatoes, I will be thinking of that Captain Eichberger's head._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

A blond, pigtailed head peeped through the office door. "_Herr_ General, Berlin is on the phone."

Burkhalter looked up from the paperwork he and Eichberger were perusing and smiled at the pretty blond secretary. "Thank you, Hilda. Put it through."

Hilda nodded and disappeared, and in a moment the phone at the desk rang. Burkhalter picked it up. "Burkhalter here." He paused, listening. Eichberger watched him carefully, not bothering to hide his study. "_Ja_, _Reischmarshal_. Are you sure?" Another pause. Burkhalter was starting to frown. "Of course, sir. No that changes nothing here at the moment. But I will pass on the information at once. _Danke. Heil_ Hitler."

Burkhalter hung up the receiver and turned to Eichberger. "As I suspected. Only I wish the change of heart had come before this whole mess started." Eichberger tilted his head expectantly. "The Fuhrer's order to execute enemy officers has been rescinded."


	24. Thanks for Nothing

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"That makes no difference to my work, _Herr_ General," Hochstetter said smoothly. "Klink is still charged with treason for helping a prisoner to escape, and Hogan is still being sought as an escapee and as a probable saboteur."

Burkhalter was starting to get hot under the collar in dealing with the Gestapo man but held his temper, since he knew the Major was leaving in the morning anyway. "Be that as it may, Hochstetter, what it _does_ mean is that if you _do_ manage to find Hogan, you cannot shoot him on sight."

"I'll try to remember that," Hochstetter answered with false sincerity.

"You will be gone tomorrow morning. Your presence here is causing difficulties that our new Captain Eichberger does not need to face as he begins his work at Stalag 13."

Hochstetter swallowed the angry words that were about to spew out of his mouth. He nearly choked on them. "Whatever the General wishes," he said acidly. "My work is done here anyway."

Eichberger couldn't stifle a scoff. "It barely began, from all appearances, Major," he said.

Hochstetter's anger raged deeply inside, and he balled his hands into fists as he considered bringing this insolent babe in the woods to kneel before him in the interrogation chambers in Hammelburg. But in the presence of Burkhalter he knew he had to control himself, and so he simply said, "Traitors to the Fatherland always make my job more difficult, Captain. But rest assured, we will find Klink." He turned to Burkhalter. "I will take the radio detection truck with me."

Burkhalter nodded. "Good. You may go, Major."

Hochstetter nodded mutely and, with a shaking hand, saluted Burkhalter, uttered a strong, "_Heil_, Hitler," and left, slamming the door behind him.

Burkhalter shook his head. "A petty little nuisance of a man," he said to Eichberger. "But he alwaysseemed to have Hogan uppermost on his list of dangerous men. With Hogan gone, perhaps he will leave you, and Stalag 13, alone."

"A prisoner? A dangerous man?" Eichberger laughed. "I hardly think any Allied pilot could pose a threat to the Third Reich from a prisoner of war camp. You are right, _Herr_ General, perhaps the Major did have too much time on his hands. Perhaps there are other ways of keeping him busy."

"He will amuse himself now searching for Klink," Burkhalter predicted. "But when he turns up nothing, beware—Hochstetter will probably come back here. He is a creature of habit."

"Habits are made to be broken."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan tried to ignore the stunned look on Klink's face as he ordered, "Kinch, radio London."

"Right, Colonel."

"With the radio detection truck gone, we can finally find out what's on their minds. And it had better be good," Hogan fumed. "They left us in the lurch, and I want an explanation." Hogan turned away as Kinch got to work making the connection. "I'm not happy about Eichberger. He seems a bit too gung-ho to work with easily." Glancing at Klink, who was still standing speechless, Hogan added, "This is when having you upstairs would come in handy. We can't work well when one of our men is sitting in stir." He called for Le Beau.

"_Oui_, Colonel."

"How's Newkirk going?"

"He is all right, Colonel. A bit bored, and a little cold, but he liked the dinner I brought him."

"Dinner...?" Klink managed, amazed.

"Sure; we can't survive on that stuff you feed us when we're in there," Hogan replied. "Haven't you noticed the nice meals you've been getting since you've been down here? Le Beau is a fantastic chef, as you well know!"

"I suppose..." Klink admitted. "But... in the cooler?"

"What better place than the one where you only get bread and water?"

Klink shook his head; this was all too much. And too humiliating.

"London on the line, Colonel."

"Good." Hogan moved away from Klink and to the radio. Kinch held the microphone toward Hogan, as the Colonel's hands were still in no shape to grip it. "Papa Bear to Goldilocks, do you read?"

Klink's eyes widened in recognition of the name he had heard Hochstetter ranting and raving about over the last three years—the great Underground leader, Papa Bear... _Hogan was Papa Bear!_

"Go ahead, Papa Bear, we acknowledge," came a female, English-accented voice. "Glad to hear your voice, Papa Bear. We thought for awhile we might not speak to you again."

"Always optimistic, Goldilocks. Still waiting for new Papa Bear. Need instructions for continuation of operation. New wolf in place. Teeth sharp."

"We read you, Papa Bear." There was a pause as someone obviously received instructions. "Orders remain as before. Proceed with caution. Keep outings to a minimum until you confirm how sharp the teeth are. No new Papa Bear is coming."

"_Why not?_" Hogan burst angrily, unable to stop himself.

"Sorry, Papa Bear, other matters need more urgent attention at present. You are to remain in place."

Hogan nodded grimly, his features contorted with suppressed rage. _In place, and in hiding. How long to do they expect me to do that? _"Roger, Goldilocks." Hogan collected himself, then got back to business. "We also have a package that needs delivering. Old wolf must go to England. Information vital."

"Usual route for that, Papa Bear. No special delivery available at this time."

Hogan's eyes flared. Klink wondered what the "usual" route was. And he got the slightest sick feeling in his stomach when he realized that _he_ was the old wolf Hogan was referring to.

"The usual route is _blocked _at this time, Goldilocks," Hogan responded, his voice betraying more than a hint of frustration.

"Sorry, Papa Bear, no other options available. I'm afraid you're on your own."

"What else is new?" Hogan growled. Klink raised an eyebrow, surprised at the venom in Hogan's voice. "Will contact as needed. Papa Bear over and out."

Hogan turned angrily away from the radio. Kinch listened to the headsets for a moment, making sure the connection was complete, then he started switching everything off. Hogan closed his eyes and started rubbing his forehead with his index and middle fingers. His splinted hand covered most of his face—a blessing, as for once in the last two and a half weeks, he didn't want the men under his command seeing every emotion played out on his face. And now, he had Klink's observations to deal with, too.

When he felt sufficiently calm, Hogan lowered his arm, offering it a cradle as a familiar ache started building, and looked at the others. "Well, business as usual," he said, trying not to sound angry.

"Aren't they going to do anything, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"You heard them, Carter. Usual route, watch your backs, that's about it."

"Left hanging again," Kinch observed, shaking his head.

"And no help with that filthy Boche, Eichberger," Le Beau spat.

Hogan looked at the Frenchman. He had heard all about the demeaning scene outside, and it enraged him to think of Le Beau and Kinch being spoken to as they had been. Both men had suffered more than their fair share of humiliation during their time, both in camp, and, in Kinch's case, outside of Germany. But since Hogan had come on the scene he had been able to keep their exposure to such incidents to a minimum, and it made him furious, and more than distressed, that he was now unable to step in and do that important part of his job—to protect his men. "No," Hogan said quietly. "I'm sorry, Louis."

Le Beau understood the double meaning in Hogan's apology. Hogan had been right when he said the Corporal was able to read people well. Le Beau came forward and faced his commanding officer. "We will handle him, Colonel," he said, softly but firmly. He forced Hogan to look him straight in the eye. "We have learned a lot from you, Colonel Hogan. His words will not hurt us."

Hogan nodded, quietly grateful for the men he worked with. So he forced on a smile and said, "Forget it, fellas—we always work better without interference anyway, right?" And when they agreed, he asked for some peace and quiet, and watched with gratitude as they took Klink and moved further down into the tunnel, leaving him with his chaotic thoughts and a private, very deep, sense of failure.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk was welcomed home to Barracks Two like a prodigal son. Even though he had been in constant contact with the others via the tunnel, the visits had been much shorter and less comforting, since Eichberger was constantly swapping guards, and had someone almost always looking directly into Newkirk's cell.

"Blimey, I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be a regular prisoner till now," Newkirk declared; "I'd gotten so used to the comforts of home. I think I'll be keeping my mouth shut from now on when we're in roll call, mates—just remind me because with a nasty piece of work like Eichberger in charge, I'm bound to forget almost immediately and start shooting me mouth off again."

"He has not gotten any nicer since you have been in the cooler, either," Le Beau announced. "He is constantly picking on one person or another."

"Yeah, just as you were coming out, he was sending Barnes in for sneezing while he was talking," Carter told him. "The cooler's going to need a revolving door by the time this guy's time here is up."

"I don't like the look of this for us, fellas," Kinch said into the silence that followed. "If we can't get around Eichberger, we're going to have to close up shop." No one answered. It was something they had wanted to avoid thinking about. "We'll have to shut down and get out."

Carter was the first to speak. "Gee," he said, with a voice that sounded like he had swallowed his emotions, "I always wanted to see London properly. I mean, I only had to go through there on the way here, you know? I never got off the base."

"Yeah," Newkirk added, not sounding at all like he meant what he was saying. "It'd be good to see home again, even if the Krauts have done 'er some harm."

"Not a very nice thank you to Colonel Hogan," Le Beau said. "London could not be bothered trying to help. Just 'nice to hear you' and 'do it all yourself'. They do not care about the work he has done here—they have not seen. They have not had to sit and watch him suffer at the hands of those pigs. They do not have any respect for him, or they would have sent someone to help him right away, not just told us to protect him but make him go back out on a mission. That is why he was caught by Hochstetter in the first place."

The others nodded in unhappy agreement.

"And they think just as little of the rest of us," Newkirk added finally. "Mates, no matter what London thinks, this has been the gov'nor's operation. His and ours. I say we're just going to have to forget whatever they may want and do what we think needs to be done, the way we think it needs to be done. The Colonel said he wants us to keep going, even while he's downstairs, to throw the Krauts off the scent. It's up to us to decide how to do it."

Carter nodded. "Yeah." For the first time in a long time, he had nothing else to say. Headquarters' treatment of Hogan had made him angry from the beginning, and now it was time to stand up and be counted. Nothing he could add would make his case any stronger.

"_Oui_," Le Beau agreed. "But the first thing we have to do is get Colonel Hogan out of here."

"And Klink, too," added Kinch. "So how do we get started?"


	25. A New Hope

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Herr_ Captain, all prisoners are present and accounted for."

It was a very different group of men facing the Kommandant of Stalag 13 for roll call the next morning. Though there was nothing visible to tip Eichberger off to the fact, these men were now a determined and resolute unit, who vowed to put up with anything to accomplish their goal of getting Hogan to safety as soon as possible. And that meant making Eichberger as friendly as they could.

"Very good." Eichberger looked at the assembled group before him with the eye of a man who knew his place—above anyone else. And in truth, in this camp, he was the top of the heap. Burkhalter had left late last night, so Stalag 13 was now his. He would not waste the opportunities being in charge of this prison presented. "This morning, I had a look around this compound and observed that it is looking a bit... disorderly, shall we say? I will take volunteers to do a clean up duty that includes trash disposal, some painting, and some carrying."

Hogan's men looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. This was one of those times when Hogan would normally speak up and bargain with Klink for some privileges in exchange for the manpower. But Hogan wasn't here, and they had a job to do. Carter stepped forward tentatively. "Captain, I volunteer to help."

Eichberger looked with interest at the Sergeant. "Yes?" he said.

Kinch squeezed out from the back of the line. "Me, too," he added.

A small smile tugged at the sides of Eichberger's mouth. His eyes scanned the group, waiting.

"Yeah, I guess I could use the exercise," came Olsen's voice, as he, too, pulled away from the rest.

"Well, I haven't had much of that either," Newkirk piped up, and he stood beside Olsen, hands in his pockets.

Eichberger smiled at Newkirk's offer to help. This was one who may have learned his lesson quickly. Standing there with his head lowered and his eyes studying his shoes, Newkirk looked like Eichberger wanted every prisoner to look: obedient, resigned, and hopeless. "Very good, gentlemen," he said. "I offer no reward or special privilege for this work. But as you will come to see, I can be a very reasonable man to work with. You have no commanding officer of your own to liaise with me at present, but in the meanwhile, you may have no fear of approaching me. I simply ask the respect that is due to members of the master race—the people who have, after all, conquered at least yourselves." He waited for his words to sink in.

And they did. Every man in the lineup was feeling a tension that came with nearly unbearable anger, but, thinking of Hogan in the tunnels below, they kept their emotions under control and swallowed the bitterness that burned in their throats. "We don't need a reward, sir," Carter said shakily. "We always like to have the camp looking nice. Colonel Hogan always said it's our home and we have to take care of it."

Eichberger nodded smoothly, just once, in deference to this unseen Colonel Hogan, whose influence on these men seemed phenomenal. "It sounds like your Colonel Hogan was a sensible man," he allowed. He smirked. "It's a shame he's not here now to see you looking after your surroundings," he said. He again waited for his words to impact on the men, and though he could see the changes as they physically shifted to bear the increasing tension they were feeling, he was surprised they did not speak out. "If he had only waited before escaping from this camp, he would have been able to see you cowering, broken men doing the menial jobs that are your lot. I have no doubt that the Gestapo would have grown tired of their fun with him, and let him return to you. After all, even the Fuhrer had changed his mind about the Colonel's future."

"Changed his mind, sir?" Kinch dared.

Eichberger turned to face him. For a moment Kinch thought he had pushed his luck, and that he would suffer some unreasonable punishment for asking a question. But the Captain simply smiled benignly before answering. "That's right, Sergeant. Our Esteemed Leader decided that it would be too disruptive to the prison camps to execute the officers. So he commanded that the practice be stopped."

_How many men had already been killed by the time he decided that?_ Le Beau thought indignantly. _And how fast would we have lost Colonel Hogan if Hochstetter had not been the imbecile they sent to follow through the order?_ "_Pardonnez-moi_, Captain. Are you saying that if the Colonel had not already been shot, he would have been let go?"

"From that foolish Major Hochstetter, perhaps. But not from Stalag 13." He smiled at Le Beau as if dealing with a somewhat dimwitted child. Le Beau cooked under his clothing but remained silent. "Yes, your Colonel Hogan might have been right here beside you, perhaps even joining you in your work."

_You make it sound like that would have been demeaning for him. Well, I've got news for you, buddy, the Colonel was never above working right along side us when he needed to, officer or not._ Kinch cleared his throat. "Sir, when would you like us to start?"

Eichberger continued smiling broadly, something that was disturbing to the men, who had become used to his short temper when dealing with them. "After breakfast. You must not work on an empty stomach. Report to Sergeant Schultz at oh-eight-hundred. You are dismissed."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Schultzie, is it true that ol' Scramble Brains changed his mind about shooting all the officers?" Newkirk asked later that morning. He grunted as he picked up a box in the supply hut and moved it to another area so he could sweep underneath.

Schultz moved deftly out of Newkirk's way but did nothing to help as the Englishman struggled with the heavy carton. But then, his mind was on so many other things that he barely noticed the man standing next to him. "_Ja_, Newkirk, I think so," he answered. Schultz yawned. The last few days had given him little opportunity for sleep, with worry over Hogan, Klink, and his own future playing on his mind. "They have not told me, but I heard General Burkhalter talking with the Captain before he left. They did not know I could hear."

Newkirk dropped the crate heavily on the floor and picked up the broom. "Nice of the old man to bring it to our attention like that," he said. "Now that the Colonel's gone and all."

Schultz nodded. As much as he missed Colonel Hogan, his mind was still uppermost on his own commander, Colonel Klink. "I worry about the Kommandant," he said.

Newkirk paused in his sweeping. "I know you do, Schultzie," he said, biting his tongue. "He wasn't a bad Kraut compared with some of the others around here."

Schultz nodded. "I know that he and Colonel Hogan did not always get along, but Kommandant Klink always tried his best to keep things peaceful around here."

Newkirk nodded. "You can say that for him," he agreed. "Ol' Klink was never much for controversy—too much of a chance to get sent to the Russian front!" Schultz nodded and swallowed hard. Newkirk watched him with some pity, then said, "He showed a lot of guts in the end, Schultz. Trying to help Colonel Hogan like that was the most amazing thing I think he ever did."

"And he paid for it," Schultz said, with only a trace of bitterness. "We were warned what happens when we help the Allies, and he paid for it."

Newkirk was taken aback by the anger lacing the guard's voice. Schultz had never been a man to express any enmity towards the prisoners. But today his voice had an edge to it that was unmistakable. "He followed his conscience, Schultz. He did the humane thing."

Schultz snorted derisively. "The Fuhrer is not interested in the humane thing," he replied. "If he was, he would not have ordered officers to be shot in the first place." He moved toward the door. "And then changed his mind, so the deaths of all those who were already killed would seem like an even bigger tragedy." He sighed heavily. "Finish with those boxes, Englander, without taking anything as a souvenir, if you can. After that, you can go. I will tell Captain Eichberger that you have done everything that he requested."

Newkirk watched Schultz carefully as he walked out the door, stooped like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What is it about me that makes me so invaluable to you, Hogan?" asked Klink. The question had been playing heavily on his mind since Hogan had first mentioned it. Everything he had encountered in the last few days had been mind-boggling—a tunnel network under the camp, radios, intelligence, sabotage. A neat, tightly run operation functioning smoothly right under his nose. And a No Escape policy that destroyed any shred of pride Klink had tried to retain as Kommandant of Stalag 13; there was no doubt to him now that the camp was really under the control of Colonel Hogan—of _Papa Bear_. Klink had only been a puppet, a paper doll dressed up and used for purposes that he had not even guessed at.

Hogan had played him for a fool, no matter how the American tried to cushion the blow.

And Klink had spent hours contemplating the fact that Hogan had, indeed, tried to make the destruction of the German's perception of reality as painless as possible. Hogan had spoken of Klink's humane running of the camp, of the relatively painless life that the men had lived under Klink's command, when there was rumor of unconscionable treatment at other Stalags. He had told Klink that more than once the operation had survived only due to the unwitting intervention of Klink, when the Kommandant was trying to do the right thing in the face of what was clearly the wrong thing. That Hogan himself had much to thank Klink for—not all men would risk their own lives to warn an enemy of danger. That Klink stood as more than a mere propaganda sheet for the Third Reich; in the end, he wanted Germany to win the war with honor, and he had proven that by his actions.

Klink wanted to take comfort in Hogan's words. He wanted to believe that it might make some difference when—not _if_, Klink was beginning to believe, but _when_—Hogan managed to get him out the country and into the hands of the Allies in England.

But he couldn't. Klink would have to leave his beloved Germany. His mother and brother would worry about what happened to him until he was secure in a prison camp himself—_as a prisoner, not the Kommandant_, he thought with some irony—and able to write a letter home to explain what had happened. If he was allowed to. Nothing Hogan could say to him now would change that.

But this idea that the Allies found Klink to be so important both soothed his shattered ego, and intrigued him. Nothing Klink had ever been told indicated that he was anything special. _How ironic_, thought Klink, _that it is only in being taken by the enemy that one is shown his worth_.

"You're not invaluable to _me_," Hogan answered, putting down the book that he had started reading four times that day. But, as in the other three attempts, he had been unable to get past the first ten pages; his mind was too busy with other things to be able to concentrate on all the elements of a story outside of his current reality. "But you've sure got something Headquarters wants."

Klink came to stand before Hogan at his bunk. "And what is that, Colonel?"

Hogan sighed. He knew that this, among other things, would be of concern to Klink. And while he didn't want to tell him, Hogan caved in. "I shouldn't tell you—" He watched as Klink's face changed, increasing in anxiety as it had over the last few days; "—but I guess I owe you at least that much in exchange for what you tried to do for me."

Klink seemed to brace himself for an impact. Hogan gestured for him to grab a chair and sit down. "You have a list, Colonel," Hogan began, when Klink seemed settled in. "A list of all the people who the Nazis will round up if anything happens to Hitler and his band of Merry Men."

"People?"

"Suspects. People Berlin thinks are connected to Allied war efforts. They're out there and operating now because the Germans are hoping to follow a trail right into the heart of Allied operations. But if anything happens, the people on that list will be the first ones they nab. These people are sitting in a rabbit trap—and the door could slam shut at any time. We need to know who's on that list, so we can warn them, and possibly get them out now, before it's too late."

Klink shook his head, bewildered. "I have no such list," he said.

"You do, but you don't know about it. It's locked away in your brain." Klink stared blankly at the American. "At some stage you were hypnotized, and the list was embedded in your subconscious. You have to be put under again to get to the names."

Klink scoffed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Colonel," Klink said. "Why would someone entrust me with this list, then station me way out here at a _Luft_ Stalag?"

"You're safer that way, aren't you? Who's going to look for a list like that with a prison warden?" Klink shifted uncomfortably at the job description. He had always thought of his work as nobler than that. But somewhere inside he realized Hogan was simply making a point, and refused to take offense. "They plant this in your brain, don't tell you so you can't blab it to anyone by mistake, then ship you off to a nice, safe, out-of-the-way place where they can keep tabs on you until the time is right. A perfect plan."

Klink nodded slowly. He hated to admit it, but Hogan was right. It was a perfect plan. A perfect secret. And once again, Klink thought ruefully, he had been a perfect dupe.

Hogan noticed Klink's reaction and added softly, "I know this has all come as a bit of a shock to you." Hogan looked down. "I'm sorry to have to be the one to explain it all. But we only did what we had to do. I never manipulated you just for fun, Kommandant, and that's the truth. I was doing my job."

"I can't help but feel that I have been a fool for the past three years, Hogan. Hochstetter could see what was happening, but I couldn't. Maybe I didn't want to."

"Maybe you didn't." Hogan replied. He had no answers for the Kommandant. "Let's have a game of chess," he said, abruptly changing the subject.

"What?"

"Chess—let's have a game. I usually play with Kinch down here when he's stuck on the radio, but you're not a bad player, either, so what do you say?"

"'Not a bad player'?" Klink repeated. "I'll remind you that I am victorious almost every time we play, Colonel Hogan."

"You may find I'm a different player now that I have nothing to lose by knocking your socks off, Kommandant."

"Bring it on, Hogan. Bring it on."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau brought lunch downstairs to the refugees along with the daily camp gossip. He could not help but mention the apparent change in Eichberger's treatment of the prisoners, and his announcement that Hitler's order to execute officers in prison camps had been withdrawn.

Hogan leapt on this information. "Are you sure? Is this confirmed, Louis?" he asked.

Le Beau shrugged. "Schultz said he heard Burkhalter and Eichberger talking about it."

Klink winced at hearing the men discuss these officers without the use of their rank. But he said nothing, too fascinated with the talk to be upset by semantics. "How did Eichberger seem to feel about this?"

Le Beau considered. "He said if the Fuhrer had changed his mind while you were still in camp, then Hochstetter should have released you back to the camp."

"No bloodthirsty Kraut waiting to slit my throat on principle?"

"It did not seem so, Colonel."

"Louis, tell Kinch I want him to get on the horn and see if he can confirm that the execution order's been withdrawn; it might just be a trick to expose us. Then I want you fellas to keep at Eichberger; see what you can find out about how he feels about that retraction, and whether he'll honor it."

"_Oui_, Colonel. And if it all checks out?"

Hogan's eyes took on a gleam for the first time in weeks. "Louis, I'm getting tired of this tunnel. I want to go back to my nice, drafty office. And what better way than for me to walk right back in through the front gate?"


	26. Answers of the Past, Questions of the Fu...

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

AN: Severe problems with seem to be interfering with this chapter. This is the most complete version I can find. Fanfiction admits there is a problem here somewhere but are not through fixing it yet. Please bear with me while we sort it out—and until we do I won't be posting so you don't have to go through three versions of this!

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"It's too dangerous, gov'nor. The man's a bleedin' fruitcake!" Newkirk protested that evening. Hogan had just told the rest of the men about his desire to come out of hiding, and that had them all reeling.

"I agree, Colonel. Eichberger says he's a reasonable man, but I can't imagine him taking too well to you suddenly showing up." Kinch spoke, almost knowing he was wasting his breath, but somehow hoping Hogan would listen.

"And what about Hochstetter?" Le Beau put in. "Once he finds out you are back, he will have a field day with you." His voice dropped as he continued, "You do not need to be put in front of the firing squad to be killed."

Hogan looked at his men with fondness. Somehow it always surprised him when they wanted to protect him, even though he never doubted that they would do it for each other without hesitation. Perhaps it was that he considered it his job to look after them, not the other way around. But regardless of the reason, he was touched by their loyalty. "It sounds like Eichberger isn't really impressed with our Major Hochstetter," Hogan said. "I have a feeling that if we play him the right way, he might be strong enough to keep the Gestapo at bay."

Carter shook his head. "Gee, I don't know, Colonel. Major Hochstetter's a Major and Captain Eichberger's only a Captain. He can just order him to do what he wants, can't he?"

"Carter, my boy, sometimes it's about brainpower more than about brass," Hogan replied. "And from all accounts, it appears that Eichberger has a clear advantage over Hochstetter on that front. Let's just see how it pans out, and then I'll decide what to do." He looked at the silent, anxious faces staring back at him and tried to put on a smile. "Look, I can hide out, run, or come back. If I come back, I can remain part of the operation. And I'd rather sit out this war with you fellas than in some overheated office back in London when they decide to ground me as an old man."

No one answered, but they started shifting their eyes, shuffling their feet, and crossing their arms in discomfort. They didn't like it, but they knew that if anyone was going to be able to work his way around this new Kommandant, it would be Hogan. And as dedicated as they were to the operation and its goals, they also knew they wouldn't carry on with the same heart if Hogan weren't there with them. Because while the operation was not intended to ever be solely dependent on one man, Hogan had become its essence—you didn't think of the group without thinking of Hogan. And not one of them could think of working for anyone else.

"Do you think we can survive without Klink?" Newkirk asked. "We always worried about what would happen if he was gone."

"Well we don't have any choice now," Hogan answered. "Eichberger is who we have, so Eichberger is who we work on. We won't know how sharp his teeth are until we get bitten. And I'd rather him try them out on me than any of you fellas. Kinch, what do you hear about that order?"

"Not much yet, Colonel. Underground and London are going to get back to us."

"Okay. Then I'd better start getting my cover story ready, so I know what I've been doing for the last three weeks!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The touch of Kinch's hand on his shoulder startled Hogan into wakefulness. Usually an extremely light sleeper, Hogan had not heard the radioman come down the ladder, nor, it appeared, as he saw the clipboard in Kinch's hand, had he even heard the radio's noisy beeps and clicks. He sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes with his left hand, as his right still felt like lead, and tried to blink himself into full awareness. "What's going on, Kinch?" he asked.

"Sorry to wake you, Colonel," Kinch began. Hogan just nodded. "I thought you'd want to know what I found out about that execution order."

Hogan took in a deep breath and tried to carefully stretch the kinks out of his neck. "I thought you didn't expect word about that till at least this afternoon."

"It _is_ this afternoon, Colonel. It's two thirty."

Hogan's face registered surprise. "I'll have to talk to Wilson about what he's putting in those syringes," he joked weakly. _Damn. I must not be as well as I thought._ "So what have we got?" he asked, putting aside his unease. He absentmindedly stroked his hurting right hand and wrist.

"Well it was tough getting anything from Hammelburg—the Underground still isn't very active thanks to the Gestapo nosing around." Hogan nodded. "But we did manage to get word out from a contact in Gestapo Headquarters. Hochstetter's ranting and raving around the office about not being given his chance to have a go at you," Kinch started.

Hogan snorted, wincing at a stitch of discomfort in his abdomen. "I think he had plenty of chance," he replied.

"Yeah, well, apparently he's been dressed down for not completing the job he was sent here to do in the first place. He was accused of putting his own interests first, and now he has to report failure, since by the time the order was rescinded...well, you should have been... long gone."

Kinch faltered into silence. Hogan nodded, staring at nothing as he considered what would have happened if Hochstetter hadn't been so hell-bent on trying to make Hogan confess to acts of sabotage before finishing him off. "I suppose this is one time I should be grateful he's such a maniac," Hogan practically whispered.

"That _did_ have its usefulness," Kinch agreed quietly. _How awful must it be to have to be grateful that a man hates you enough to torture you before he gets around to killing you?_ He looked at Hogan's troubled face, with one or two lingering bruises leaving a slight discoloration on his still-pale cheeks, and wondered how Hogan could cope with all that had happened to him. Hogan's eyes told Kinch that the Colonel was once again locked up in that cell, enduring a torture intended to drive him mad with pain before facing a certain death. Hogan had never spoken about the experience, choosing instead to try to put it out of his mind. But Kinch could see that it was still there, every time he caught Hogan off-guard. And it was heartbreaking to see the haunted look that dimmed the normally bright spark in Hogan's eyes, leaving Hogan uncertain and, at least until he forced the feelings of fear and rage down for awhile, unconfident in his future. "Colonel?" Kinch prompted softly.

Hogan took a deep, calming breath and blinked himself back to the present. He looked at Kinch expectantly.

Kinch swallowed before speaking again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hogan shook his head. "No, thanks, Kinch," he said with difficulty. "I'd rather just forget all about it."

Kinch wasn't fooled, but he nodded agreement. "If you ever do—"

"I know," Hogan interrupted quickly. "Thanks." He cleared his throat and made a visible effort to steer the subject away from himself. "Well, it sounds like it's all on the up and up. I don't think Hochstetter's that good an actor to be able to put on a show like that just for the benefit of someone who _might_ be watching who's on the other side. He's too arrogant to think that anyone might be infiltrating the _great Gestapo_," he said. Kinch nodded. "So now the only question that remains is: is Eichberger the kind of guy I can trust not to shoot me when I show up?"

"That's a tough call, Colonel," Kinch said.

"I'll give the fellas a couple more days to feel him out. Then it's time to make my move. If this works, Kinch, we could be back in business."

Kinch smiled and nodded, hearing some life come back into Hogan's voice. But he hadn't been mistaken when he saw the glassy eyes only minutes earlier, and wondered how long the spark would be there, before some horrific memory wiped it out again.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"But what will happen to _me_ down here, Hogan?" Klink asked, when Hogan explained that he was heading back up into camp. Though he was not happy living this non-life underneath Stalag 13, at least he had had Hogan as constant company. But now, with the American saying he was going back upstairs, Klink was starting to feel more uncertain than he had before—he would be alone. And Hogan would not be there to protect him from anything the prisoners decided to do.

"We'll keep you company," Hogan reassured him lightly. "But hopefully you won't be here too long anyway. Once the Underground is satisfied that the Gestapo isn't actively monitoring their activities any more, we'll get you out by the usual route."

"The usual route?" Klink asked. He had heard this phrase before, when Hogan had spoken with London that day, with an anger in his voice that Klink had rarely heard in his senior POW.

"An Underground network. Maybe a sub. Or a plane, if I can get London to agree. They haven't been very cooperative lately," Hogan admitted. Klink heard some of the irritation coming back into Hogan's voice.

"A plane?" Klink breathed. "You can get a plane?"

Hogan shrugged. "We've done it before. Depends on how important they think the information is. Right now they don't even know what you have. I'll have to convince them you're worth the effort."

Klink frowned at the implication that his worth would have to be proven. "What makes you think you can convince them?" Klink asked. Then, suddenly, "They don't seem very interested in what you have to say."

Hogan noticed the hint of mockery in Klink's voice and felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. "They have their moments," he said stiffly. "But if I tell them you're important, they'll take my word for it. I haven't steered them wrong in three years. And they have a stack of German POWs sitting back in London to prove it."

Now it was Klink's turn to feel uncomfortable. The implication was clear: Klink himself was about to join those who had passed through Hogan's network before, to sit out the war in some prison camp, at the mercy of enemies who he was not at all sure were civilized. "What has become of these people?"

"Some of them will just bide their time until this whole mess is over," Hogan answered. His mind raced through some of the faces that had appeared before him before heading back to London. "Others, like Biedenbender, are interrogated and debriefed before being put in a camp for the duration."

"Biedenbender?" Klink said breathlessly. "I thought he defected!"

Hogan laughed humorlessly. "Him? Not on your life. I just helped him back to the Allies. Best birthday present I'd ever had."

"Hogan, how do you do this?"

"Just a lot of hard work, Kommandant. A lot of hard work, a sprinkling of luck, and a lot of help from the Man Upstairs. I like to think He's on _our_ side."

"Sometimes I wonder if He is paying any attention at all," Klink said, disheartened.

"Didn't know you wondered about things like that, Colonel," Hogan said softly.

"Every man wonders about those things, Hogan, if he is human. The Allies do not have the market cornered on humanity."

"_Touché_," Hogan said. "You just never struck me as the contemplative type."

"And you never struck me as the type of man who would be in charge of a military operation of such grand proportions," Klink countered. "In war, people are rarely what they seem."

Hogan nodded. "It seems like we've both missed a few details along the way. Well, Colonel, you'll have plenty of time to contemplate when you're in the hands of the Allies. I think I can say with confidence that you won't face the same type of interrogation I did." Klink winced at the thought. "And once they've finished with their gentle treatment of you, they'll give you a nice cozy spot with a good view of the war."

"It will not be home, Colonel."

"No," Hogan agreed. "It won't. But a lot of us are in the same boat. If all goes to plan with Eichberger, I'm here for the duration, too."

Klink shook his head, discouraged. "When will this war be over?" he asked, not expecting any kind of an answer.

Hogan didn't have one. "Not soon enough for me, Colonel. Not soon enough for me."


	27. Homecoming

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan scraped at his jaw line for the fifth time in the last hour. "I can't wait till I can have a shave again," he complained. "This beard is itching like mad!"

"It has only been four days, Colonel," Le Beau said. "You will make your face bleed if you keep scratching it like that."

Hogan grimaced and continued clawing at his face and neck. "But it's driving me crazy!" he said. "Why can't I make it look like I've been with some nice family until just now, who liked me clean-shaven?"

Kinch grinned. "Now, come on, Colonel, you know you can't do that. You're the one who told us why in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," Hogan sighed, deliberately pulling his hand away from his cheeks. He looked across the tunnel to where Newkirk was supervising alterations to some of Hogan's clothing. "How are you going over there?" he asked.

Carter glanced up from what appeared to be very detailed work. "It's starting to look really good, Colonel," he answered. "We've pretty well ripped your shirt to shreds." Hogan was tempted to look away as Carter held up a shirt like the one he had been wearing the day Hochstetter had pulled him from the lineup, but his eyes were drawn to the slash marks and the dirty, red stains scattered across it. "We've even managed to make this look like real, dried sweat and blood."

Kinch noticed the temporary light in Hogan's eyes go out as he surveyed the men's handiwork. Hogan nodded numbly. "It looks right, I guess," he said.

"We didn't keep the real one, gov'nor," Newkirk said. He pulled the shirt back down to the table, realizing the impact that seeing the shirt was having on Hogan. "And I'm sorry you have to wear this one."

"It's okay," Hogan answered in a slightly shaky voice. "This time it's hopefully going to keep me alive." Hogan drew in a quick breath as Wilson continued to undo his expert wrapping of Hogan's left wrist. "_Hey_, that's a bit rough!" he declared, as one of the bandages pulled at his healing wounds.

"Sorry," Wilson apologized. He continued his work, but slowed down as he realized he was now on the last level of gauze. "I'm not happy about doing this, Colonel, but I think in this case you're right: if I don't, you could suffer in other ways."

Hogan agreed. "If it looks like I've had some expert job done, then the Krauts might guess I've had help. I need some sloppy-looking stuff that looks like I've done it myself."

"Well, you are _not_ going to drag the ones we replace these with through the dirt, either, Colonel Hogan," Wilson insisted, "whether you outrank me or not." He picked up a new bandage and started wrapping it loosely and with an amateur look around Hogan's left wrist.

"Okay, okay," Hogan said, "I have no intention of doing that." He clenched his fist as fresh prickles of pain stabbed his wrist at Wilson's touch.

Wilson uncurled Hogan's fingers and glanced at his slightly whitening face. "I can't believe I'm even agreeing to this," Wilson muttered, as he reached carefully for Hogan's right hand. "Taking off perfectly good bandages, taking a chance on you getting these cuts infected. I can't believe I'm letting this happen."

"You don't have any choice," Hogan said, watching warily as Wilson very gently unwrapped his injured fingers and his wrist. "I only would have done it later without your supervision."

"That's no comfort to me, Colonel Hogan," Wilson said, taking hold of a broken-off stick that was to replace the splint that up to now had been supporting Hogan's hand. He looked at his patient's injuries and tried to hide his dissatisfaction. The knuckles were still badly swollen and bruised almost black, the fingers inflated to more than their normal size. The wrist itself was trying to heal, but retained a red, raw look that trumpeted a battle against infection. It didn't surprise him when Hogan's face contorted and he involuntarily tried to pull away as the medic held the fingers together again to rebind them in what looked like a less-than-professional manner. "Sorry," he said again, as he watched Hogan's face pale even further and start to shimmer with new beads of perspiration. "Sorry. But it's better if I do this than you. These fingers still need a lot of support, and whatever you'd do left-handed just wouldn't be good enough."

Hogan nodded, his breathing shaky. He said nothing but tensely watched Wilson do his work. When Wilson finished, he looked up at Hogan's drawn face and said, "I'm not sure you should be doing this, Colonel."

Hogan just shook his head slowly. "Have to," he managed.

"Then let me redo the bandages around your abdomen tomorrow. Hold off for a day, okay? Just one day. You don't have to go out tonight, do you?" Wilson looked to the others for support.

"It might be worth waiting, Colonel," Kinch said. "The Gestapo is still pulling out of the area. One more day couldn't hurt, just to be sure."

Hogan didn't answer, concentrating instead on keeping the room from spinning. "Colonel, I can't do any more tonight," Wilson persisted. "You aren't ready for this."

Hogan nodded lifelessly. "Okay, I'll wait."

_Sorry, Colonel._ Wilson gathered up the used bandages and turned to the others. "Make sure he gets some sleep tonight." He shook his head as he looked back at Hogan, leaning forward on the cot with his eyes half-closed but unwilling to lie down. "Tomorrow I'll take care of his other bandages. Don't let him try it himself." He went to Hogan's side. "Do you hear me, Colonel? I don't want you to do this yourself. I can make it look as bad as you need it to, okay?" He tried to look into Hogan's eyes, but they were closing rapidly. He took Hogan by the shoulders and lay him down on the thin mattress. Hogan submitted silently. "Okay, Colonel. That's enough for today. The war will still be there in the morning." Hogan sighed and closed his eyes. "Just a bit too much for him," Wilson explained, turning to the others. "I really don't like him doing all this; he's not recovered yet."

"We don't like it much either," Newkirk said. "But you can't get the Colonel to stop for long."

"And even if we don't like it, he's right," Kinch added ruefully. "This is the best way to see if we can get the operation up and running again. Otherwise we might as well close up this tunnel and get all of us out of here now."

Wilson looked around him, at the walls supported by beams, at the oil lamps positioned evenly till they were out of sight, at the radio equipment spread out over two tables, at the men standing almost protectively near their sleeping commanding officer. How it all began was only a distant memory. How it would end was anybody's guess. He shrugged his acceptance. "That would be a shame," he admitted. "You've all done a lot of good here so far. I guess we just have to let him do it his way."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Schultz will be exactly where he is supposed to be, Colonel," Le Beau promised. "I will make sure he is there, even if I have to lead him there with a trail of strudel."

Hogan smiled briefly as he pictured the possibility. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind that at all." He gingerly pulled on the torn shirt Carter presented to him, trying hard not to look at it. "Too neat?" he asked, as he struggled with the buttons.

"Here, let me," Kinch offered, moving Hogan's sore hands away. He did up a couple of buttons, then left the others and pulled out Hogan's shirttails. Then he helped Hogan on with his jacket, draping the coat over his shoulder on the right instead of trying to get Hogan's arm through the sleeve.

"Don't forget your cap," Carter reminded him, handing it over. Hogan took it and placed it on his head.

"It is cold," Le Beau told Hogan. "Stay covered up. Wilson will kill us all if you die of pneumonia."

Newkirk approached with a handful of dirt and started smearing it on Hogan's jacket and pants, then very gently did the same on Hogan's face. "You be careful, gov'nor," he said, concentrating a little more than necessary, and therefore not having to look Hogan in the eye. "We did a lot of work to make you look this bad." He surveyed his work, only to find Hogan studying him intently. "Just make sure all the blood on here stays fake, okay?" he added quickly, examining a wet patch of dirt he had just put on Hogan's sleeve.

Hogan understood the message Newkirk was trying to give him and nodded. "That's my plan," he said quietly. Hogan straightened and looked at his jacket as Newkirk drew back. "You guys are going to owe me another jacket when I come back here," he said with forced lightness. "I don't like the way this one is looking!"

"We will make it like new, Colonel," Le Beau promised. There was no humor in his voice.

"Look after Klink while I'm gone. Don't let him get too nervous." Hogan thought of the Kommandant, who had, as of late, taken to retreating down the tunnel to the spot where he was first brought in. Hogan had decided it was best to let him find his own niche down here, where he could think about everything going on around him, and start to come to grips with how his life was changing. "Tell him I'll come visit him as soon as I'm back in the camp's good graces."

The others nodded. Wilson stood by quietly, watching Hogan for any signs of distress. But he knew he had delayed the inevitable for as long as possible, and could only depend now on Hogan's common sense. Changing the final bandages had not been easy, as they had become fused with the healing incisions on Hogan's abdomen, and fresh spots of blood had appeared on the white wrapping. Hogan had only nodded approval, saying it looked more realistic. But the change in his breathing had not escaped the medic's notice, and Wilson was praying that more harm than good wouldn't come out of this escapade. Still, there was nothing he could say now that would change Hogan's mind.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

"Better be," Wilson burst before he could stop himself.

Hogan turned to the medic, surprised. "Thanks, Joe," he said softly, acknowledging everything the Sergeant had done for him since his rescue. "I won't do anything stupid, I promise."

Wilson snorted. "That'd be a first," he jibed, smiling. Then, more serious, "Good luck, Colonel."

"Thanks. Let's hope I don't need it."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan paused for breath after climbing up the ladder through the tree stump opening at the end of the tunnel. Dodging the sweeping search lights from the guard tower, he grimaced as his injuries protested the unusual posture. When the light passed he stood up and moved to the shelter of a nearby tree and leaned against it, willing away the throbbing in his hand and abdomen. He hadn't had to strain them this much since he had been taken, and now he could do nothing but wait until the feeling of nausea passed so he could push them to their limit again.

Hogan looked down to the camp. The gates loomed before him, with fences reaching high into the sky, the barbed wire reflecting the pale moonlight. Hogan shivered and drew the jacket around him. Winter was definitely in the air—the earth was hard beneath his feet and he could see his own breath in front of him. At least he had his shoes; thank God someone had pulled his outer clothing from solitary confinement when they had rescued him. Otherwise, tonight would have been even less pleasant than it was already shaping up to be.

Resigned to holding off until morning light before making his appearance, Hogan settled down for the wait. He looked with concern at his right hand. Wilson had been right—it had easily been the worst of his injuries, and it continued to cause him great pain. The bandages now around the two fingers looked like they had been applied by an amateur, but Hogan could feel the support the medic had built into them. Still, the hurt was sometimes breathtaking, and he was worried about regaining full use of his fingers. The thought of having a permanent physical reminder of Hochstetter was almost enough to drive him screaming out of the woods, and he leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes until the thrill of fear receded.

When he opened his eyes, Hogan looked around him for any watching patrols, then pulled away from the tree and started walking away from the camp. He would have to do many circuits around Stalag 13 to keep himself warm, and to get himself in a sufficient state to make it appear that he had been on his own for a long time. _They did a good job on the shirt, though_, Hogan thought, wrinkling his nose. _Maybe **too** good a job—phew! Come on, sun, hurry up! I haven't been at calisthenics for three weeks; I'm not fit for walking too long!_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Eichberger nodded to his Sergeant of the Guard that his inspection of the men of Barracks Two was completed and turned away to do his usual morning inspection of the compound. Schultz waved his arm and called for the group to break it up and get started with their assignments. Grumbling, Schultz was surprised when Le Beau came up to him, with his pick and canvas sack already in hand.

"Ready to start the day, Schultzie?" he asked lightly.

"_Ja, ja_, one day is like the next," Schultz answered with a note of sadness.

"Aw, come on, Schultzie, that's no attitude to take when I am about to make you some nice potato pancakes."

Schultz stopped on his way to the guard house and looked with a small smile at the Frenchman. "Potato pancakes? For me?"

"_Oui_, for you," Le Beau said, nodding. "It has been hard for you, Schultz; you have lost your commanding officer, just like we have. I want to do something nice for you." He looked carefully outside the camp, scanning the woods. Then he started walking again, so Schultz had to move to continue the conversation.

"That is a very nice thing to do, Le Beau," Schultz said. "You are a very good friend, for an enemy."

Le Beau smiled widely at his guard. "I try," he said. He turned from Schultz again and looked once more out to the woods. "Hey, Schultz, what if we were to start a vegetable garden here in camp?"

"What kind of vegetable garden?"

"Well, you know—one where we could grow cabbages, potatoes—all the things that go into the kinds of food you like, so I could make it more often for you."

Schultz considered. "I don't know if the Captain would let you," he said.

"Oh, sure he would—look, all you need is some good soil, like that soil out there," he prompted, pulling Schultz closer to the wire. "See?"

Schultz resisted. "No, no, Cockroach, the dirt in the camp is the same as the dirt outside."

"No, it isn't!" Le Beau insisted, tugging at the guard. "Look—that soil is richer. It has been fertilized with the leaves from the trees and the droppings of the animals. Look _closer_, Schultzie."

And he practically pushed Schultz up to the fence. Suddenly, there was a movement in the trees, and Schultz drew back. "Cockroach—there is something out there!" he said.

"Out there?" Le Beau echoed. "I don't see anything, Schultz."

"But there is, there _is_!" the guard persisted. He leaned closer to the fence to look in between the wires.

Schultz's eyes widened when he saw what emerged from the trees. A man, stumbling and unsteady, heading for the gates. The figure looked familiar—that jacket, that hat, with that height and weight—"Colonel Hogan!"

Schultz hurried to the gate and ordered it opened, motioning for Le Beau to stay behind. Le Beau nodded, satisfied to watch the events unfolding. Schultz ran toward the trembling man who was still coming toward him with his eyes downcast. "Colonel Hogan!" Schultz said again, grabbing hold of the American, to support him.

Hogan looked blearily at the guard. "Schultz?" he gasped weakly. His face was white, and he was bathed in sweat. Schultz took only a couple of seconds to look over the prisoner and was disgusted by what he saw—torn, filthy clothing, bloody bandages, and a hollow look in Hogan's face that spoke of fear and pain.

He guided Hogan toward the camp. "Colonel Hogan, where have you been?"

"Had to... get out, Schultz," Hogan panted. As they entered the camp, he stole a very alert look at Le Beau, who came rushing over as though seeing Hogan for the first time. Hogan turned back to the guard and continued. "Hochstetter..." He sagged in Schultz's grip as the gates were closed behind him. "But I... couldn't last out there, Schultz... please, let me come home."

Le Beau took hold of Hogan's other arm. "Colonel. Colonel, it is Le Beau. You are safe now, Colonel."

The ruckus at the gate was attracting the attention of others in the camp, including Eichberger, who had not yet returned to his office. "What is going on here?" he asked, now standing before the trio.

"_Herr_ Captain, I was looking outside the fence when I saw this man coming toward the camp. This is Colonel Hogan!"

Eichberger took a long look at the man being supported by Le Beau and Schultz. "So this is Colonel Hogan," he observed. Hogan didn't look up, continuing to breathe labouredly. Le Beau looked from Eichberger to Hogan, unconsciously holding his breath. "Colonel Hogan!" called Eichberger, very close to Hogan's face.

Hogan slowly raised his head and looked at Eichberger with vacant, tired eyes. "Colonel Hogan, you and I are going to have a talk in my office. Schultz, handcuff this man and bring him."

"But _Herr_ Captain—"

Eichberger waved the protest away. "Never mind," he said. "I will do it myself." He grabbed the handcuffs from Schultz's belt, then jerked Hogan away from his helpers and drew his arms roughly behind his back, applying the cuffs tightly. Hogan grunted and squeezed his eyes shut as a bolt of pain raced through his hand. "If he can get out of a locked cell by melting through the walls, then what is to stop him from getting out of this camp unless we take stricter measures? Come, Colonel Hogan, we have much to discuss."

Eichberger pulled Hogan away by the arm. Hogan looked back toward Schultz and Le Beau, sweat pouring down his face. Le Beau bit his lip, hoping that the condition Hogan appeared to be in was an act, and Schultz simply watched their retreat, stunned.

"What... just happened?" Schultz asked.

"The Colonel has come back!" Le Beau answered. "And that pig Eichberger has already got his hands on him."

"Cockroach," Schultz asked, turning to the Corporal, "was he supposed to come back?"

"Schultz," Le Beau replied, "the Colonel would not want to ruin the Kommandant's perfect record. No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13."


	28. Introductions and Revelations

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan stood wavering in front of Eichberger's desk, his hand hurting terribly, his eyes stinging from the sweat that had worked its way into them. But Eichberger said nothing for a moment, content to simply look at the man before him.

Finally, the Captain nodded approvingly. "So, you are the great Colonel Hogan," he said. Hogan remained silent. "Hogan the Magician!" he announced, laughing. Hogan frowned slightly but did not take the bait. "I must say, Colonel, you certainly had many people in a state when you disappeared. It appears you did not share your talent as an escape artist with anyone in the camp before you took your leave. Tell me, how did you do it?"

Hogan did not answer. He squirmed uncomfortably in the restraints.

"The handcuffs are bothering you, Colonel," Eichberger observed. "Why do you not just... slip out of them, as you did out of your cell?" He laughed at his own joke. Hogan stopped moving. "Come now, Hogan," Eichberger persisted. "Surely you would have expected us to want to know how you managed to get out?"

Hogan cleared his throat. "Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, US Army Air Corps, serial number 08767—"

Eichberger waved him into silence. "Never mind all that, Hogan. I know all about you. All about your sabotage and all about your best friend, Major Hochstetter." Hogan said nothing. "What I want to know is, why did you come back?"

"Only hotel in town," Hogan answered evenly.

Eichberger laughed loudly. "Ah, Colonel Hogan, you amuse me."

"My life is complete."

"I see what General Burkhalter told me about you was correct," Eichberger said, obviously pleased. "You are indeed an unusual specimen. Even in your precarious situation, you manage to make jokes. Not all men could laugh in the face of a firing squad."

"Is that where I'm heading?" Hogan asked, his emotions still switched off.

Eichberger considered. He stood up and circled around Hogan, toying with him. "You don't know, do you?" he asked. "You are speaking as though it does not matter, but you don't really know what my plans are for you, do you?" Hogan stayed quiet. Eichberger studied Hogan closely, then smiled and faced him. "My name is Franz Eichberger, Colonel Hogan. I am the new camp Kommandant. Or did you not notice that your friend Colonel Klink is not here?"

"He's not my friend."

"Many things have changed since you last graced us with your presence. But you will have plenty of time to learn about that. You will be spending the next thirty days in the cooler. That is, unless you decide to make the walls dissolve," he added, chuckling. "Sergeant Schultz!" he called.

The door opened immediately and Schultz entered, daring an anxious look toward Colonel Hogan while saluting Eichberger. "_Jawohl, Herr _Kommandant."

"Take Colonel Hogan to the cooler. Do not remove his handcuffs until you have him locked in his cell." Eichberger turned to Hogan to explain. "We will take no chances with you, Colonel. I am not interested in the kind of unpleasant surprise that greeted your old Kommandant when I visit you later—that is, if it _was_ a surprise to him." Resuming his orders, Eichberger said, "Post two guards, Sergeant, and make sure one of them is in constant visual contact with the prisoner. I will come by later to interrogate him myself." Schultz nodded his understanding. "Do not worry, Colonel Hogan, I have no intention of having you executed. There are many more interesting things to be learned by leaving you alive. Sergeant, you may take him."

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ Captain."

Eichberger turned away from Hogan as though he had already left the room. Schultz looked at Hogan, still standing unsteadily at the desk, and prompted him to move with a touch of his elbow. Hogan accepted the gesture and turned to leave. They had gotten half way out the door when Hogan appeared to stumble, and he started to fall forward. Schultz caught him around the waist to stop him from hitting the floor, and Hogan grunted in protest at the handling. "I am sorry, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, helping Hogan to stand upright.

"That's all right, Schultz," Hogan answered tiredly. He took the opportunity he had created to study Eichberger carefully from under the brim of his cap. The man was a block of ice; he was concentrating on the paperwork at his desk, now seemingly oblivious to their presence. Hogan began to wonder what type of man Eichberger was, and reminded himself that this was no Colonel Klink he was dealing with. No; the consequences of a wrong step here would be much harder to avoid. "Just get me out of here."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Schultz pulled the handcuffs out from between the bars of the cell as Hogan hissed and tried to soothe his throbbing right hand. The American moved to the cot against the opposite wall and sat down wearily. "Thanks, Schultz."

"Colonel Hogan, should I send for Sergeant Wilson?"

"I doubt your new Kommandant would allow that," Hogan answered.

"But you are hurt," Schultz replied.

"If it were up to the Prussian Corporal, Schultz, I'd be dead. Hurt doesn't rate a mention." Hogan leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Most of his behavior in front of the Germans had been an act, but his tiredness after being outside walking for hours, and his discomfort at the rough handling of his still-wounded body, had been real. He had played it up as much as he could for his meeting with Eichberger, but now he was willing to forgo any charade if he could just have some time to recover.

Schultz looked at Hogan sadly. "I was worried, Colonel Hogan. The boys told me you were in very bad shape."

"Do I look like I'm in very _good_ shape?" Hogan retorted without animosity. "Don't forget to get your second guard, Schultz," he reminded the Sergeant. "I'll be in here sleeping. Wake me when Patton shows up, okay?"

And the world around him faded away.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

A less than delicate touch on his abdomen drove Hogan firmly into awareness. He sat forward with a jerk, swatting randomly at the cause of the discomfort, only to find his arms pushed away. He cleared his head and regarded the intruder. It was Eichberger.

"Major Hochstetter has some very interesting methods of interrogation," the Captain said, as he once again probed Hogan's abdomen. Hogan flinched and pulled away, laying a protective arm gently over his seeping wounds. "I don't think I've seen him outdone by anyone, ever."

Hogan remained quiet. Still unsure about how to handle Eichberger, he had decided that observation was going to tell him a lot more than arguing. And so he listened, leaving the Captain to fill the silences.

Eichberger was sitting next to Hogan on the thin mattress, where the prisoner had fallen asleep upright and not moved. From the light coming in through the small window Hogan guessed it to be at least midday. "You were tired, Colonel Hogan," Eichberger said.

"Haven't had a lot of sleep lately."

"Where _have_ you been sleeping, Colonel Hogan?" Silence. "We both know you must have had refuge somewhere." Nothing. "I wonder what makes a man decide to return to the enemy for respite." Eichberger waited once more, then nodded and said, "I admire you, Colonel Hogan. You are certainly a strong man. But your silence here is not gaining you any advantage. Surely nothing would be lost by answering some very simple questions."

"Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, US Army Air Corps—"

Eichberger laughed. Hogan stopped speaking. "Oh, Colonel, there you go again! I do not wish to hear of common things that are in your prisoner dossier. I am interested in the other parts of your life here. The ones that deal with your alleged activities outside the camp. The ones that distracted Major Hochstetter, and unintentionally saved your life."

Hogan said nothing.

"Very well. I can respect your lack of interest in speaking about such matters to me for the moment. Would you do me the favor, at least, of telling me why you came back to Stalag 13, instead of heading away from Germany?"

Hogan considered for a moment, then said simply, "I couldn't take it any more."

Eichberger cocked his head, interested. "'Take it'?"

"I couldn't survive out there."

"So you thought it would be easier here? That it would be better for you in a prison camp? What about the execution order hanging over your head?"

"A quick death is better than a slow one."

"Where have you been for the past three weeks?"

"In the woods."

"The Gestapo had patrols searching for you everywhere. They were quite thorough."

"Not thorough enough."

"Where did you get food and water?"

"I stole it."

"And these bandages?"

"Them, too."

"What about shelter? The weather has been most fierce."

"I stayed in barns when I could. The owners didn't know I was there."

"You have an answer for everything," Eichberger said. "How did you escape from solitary confinement?" Hogan said nothing. "I see. An answer for everything you want us to believe. Very well, Colonel Hogan. For your information, the Fuhrer's command ordering the execution of officers has been withdrawn. Therefore, I would be lax in my duties as camp Kommandant if I did not look after you. I believe your dressings are old and dirty and therefore not sterile any longer. I will take them off." Hogan stiffened. "Have no fear, Colonel Hogan. When you are released they will be replaced. And I will have Sergeant Schultz get you a new shirt." He crinkled his nose distastefully. "Obviously you have not been near enough water to take a bath, and it would be cruel of me to subject my guards to you like this. You smell distinctly like an American, and that is not something they need to experience."

Hogan did not answer, but steeled himself as Eichberger pushed his arm out of the way and began to tug roughly at his dressings. His mind was already heading back to Connecticut, and Hogan desperately wanted to follow it home.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink had been startled when he first heard sounds behind him coming from the other side of the wall. He had not heard Hogan's men talking about any problems out in camp. Then he heard Hogan's voice, and the scenario all became clear. Hogan had made it back into camp, and now he was facing his punishment for escaping. Schultz's voice had come through in lower, muted sounds for a short time, and then all was silent.

Now, Hogan's closest confidants were huddled near the wall, listening as Eichberger and Hogan tangoed through their brief encounter. They would shake their heads, or gesture when they thought something was particularly impressive, or smile in silent congratulations to Hogan when he managed to sidestep Eichberger's queries. But when they heard the Captain starting to pull Hogan's bandages off, they exchanged angry looks and their movement stopped. Klink heard Le Beau say something under his breath, but though his skill in the French language was fairly advanced, he couldn't understand it. And he was sure he saw tears in Carter's eyes at the first gasp of pain from Hogan's mouth. The muffled noises didn't last long, though, and then they heard Eichberger say something indistinct before the cell door was opened and closed with a clang.

Silence followed, and the men straightened, moving away. "So that is how you know what is going on everywhere?" Klink ventured to ask in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, Colonel, that's how," Kinch answered curtly.

Their faces were stiff with anger as they contemplated what had happened in the cell behind the wall. "Well, at least we know Eichberger's going to honor the withdrawal of the execution order," Carter said hopefully.

"Lovely, so he's just going to make the gov'nor's life miserable," Newkirk said. "Taking his dressings off—Wilson's going to go 'round the bend when he finds out."

"Hey, Schultz is coming!" came a voice from the other end of the tunnel.

"Let's go," Le Beau said. "The pig said he was going to let the Colonel have another shirt. Maybe we can get Schultz to bring him some bandages, too."

Klink followed the men as they worked their way back toward the ladder under the barracks, bewildered at their lack of urgency when a German guard was coming. Kinch motioned for Klink to remain where he was, and his head was just popping out of the bunk and into the hut when the door opened and Schultz appeared. "Hi, Schultz," Kinch said, climbing into the room and banging the bunk back into place.

Schultz spun away and closed his eyes. "_Please_, Sergeant Kinchloe, I do not want to see any monkey business!"

"We had to see what was happening to the Colonel, Schultz," Le Beau replied. "Besides, you've always known a lot more than you let on to, anyway."

Klink's jaw dropped. _Could it be true that Schultz has been privy to all this all along?_

"But I do not need to see it!" Schultz protested.

"You need a shirt for the Colonel," Newkirk said. "Any chance you can get Eichberger to let Wilson look him over? Now that the bleedin' filth's taken off the gov'nor's bandages."

Schultz shook his head. "I do not think so. I will try when I bring his clean shirt, but I think not. The Captain seemed quite clear that he wanted Colonel Hogan left alone until his thirty days are completed."

"How is he, Schultz?" asked Carter. "I mean, how is he _really_?"

Schultz shrugged his big shoulders and accepted the shirt Kinch brought him from Hogan's room. "He is tired. He is probably a little bit sick. He is hurting. I do not know if that is better or worse than he was before, but it is how he is now."

"What's he doing now, Schultz?" asked Kinch.

"I think he is sleeping. But, I do not think he is having good dreams."

"Hard to do when you are in pain," Le Beau muttered angrily. "Filthy Bosche."

"Bring some bandages with you anyway, Schultz. For the Colonel. Okay?" Newkirk urged.

"_Ja_. I will try." He turned to leave, then sighed and turned back. "You know, I wish we had Kommandant Klink back."

"So do we, Schultz. So do we."

Klink listened silently, suddenly understanding what impact he truly _did_ have on the operation of the camp and the treatment of the prisoners. Hogan evidently had not been exaggerating to appease Klink when he had told the Kommandant that things would have been completely different with another man in charge; it appeared that the men of Stalag 13 could only have hoped to have found someone with Klink's level of compassion for the enemy. Was that a good thing? Klink wondered. His training wanted to think not, since he had been taught a good Luftwaffe officer was to be respected and feared.

But the other part of him believed that respect didn't need fear. _Hogan's men don't fear him, _he thought, a_nd yet they would put their arm in the fire for him. Surely that is a sign of respect. Maybe I was not such a buffoon as I believed when I first found out about this operation. _Klink sank down onto Hogan's cot, trying to think of how to change things back to how they were before Hitler had stuck his nose in everyone's business, and changed their lives forever.


	29. An Unlikely Ally

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan heard the door to his cell open but ignored it. The sound of heels clicking towards him as he lay facing the wall also did not rouse him. He knew what was coming, and he didn't want any part of it.

"Good morning, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan kept his eyes closed and continued breathing evenly.

"Colonel Hogan, it is time to have a talk." Still no response. "I have seen your records, Colonel. I am aware of your strength of resistance." Hogan didn't move. Captain Eichberger turned toward the guard at the cell door and told him to leave until he was called. The guard obeyed, and Eichberger came back to stand at the cot. "There. Now we can speak privately."

"What do you want, Eichberger?" Hogan asked wearily.

"I just want some intelligent conversation," the German answered lightly.

"You mean you talk, and I listen," Hogan said. "We've gone through this same routine for the past five days. I've told you everything I'm going to, so you might as well give up."

Eichberger smiled at the back facing him. "Colonel Hogan, when will you learn that I never give up?"

Hogan lapsed into silence. Eichberger seemed comfortable with the quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Hogan, can I confide in you?"

Hogan opened his eyes but did not move.

"I realize you have no reason to believe me at this stage, Hogan, and I am still not quite sure what you are capable of, but I need to trust you, and so I will."

Hogan said nothing. He could feel Eichberger move in closer, almost on top of him, and saw the man's shadow on the wall in front of him. What kind of game was he playing?

"I needed to be sure you had not been broken, Colonel, before I dared tell you this. I can see now that I should not have worried." Hogan listened to the hesitation in Eichberger's voice but did not comment. "Colonel Hogan," the man nearly whispered, "I have been sent to Stalag 13 to help you."

Hogan involuntarily gave a small start. He quickly tempered the urge to react and instead said as calmly as possible, "You have a funny way of showing it."

"What did you expect me to do, expose myself and risk being executed along with that idiot Klink?" Eichberger moved in until he was practically leaning on Hogan. "Please, Colonel Hogan, you must believe me. I am here to help you."

Hogan turned stiffly onto his back, his sore body protesting every inch of movement. Eichberger watched as Hogan visibly tried to control his pain, and when he looked closely he could see the American's brow glistening with the sweat of effort and discomfort. Hogan grimaced, panted, trying to settle his unbandaged right hand, which had lately given way to a ferocious, pure-white agony whenever he moved his arm too quickly. He missed the protection of the splint that Wilson had used on it, and now regretted moving at all. "What do you want from me?" Hogan asked through gritted teeth.

"I want to save the operation."

Hogan took a minute before responding. He knew that pain could cloud his judgment, and so he waited until he felt more under control before he came up with an answer. "I don't know what you're talking about." Hogan felt at a distinct disadvantage. His hand was demanding his full attention, which made it difficult for him to study Eichberger the way he wanted to. Were there any clues in his demeanor about his sincerity? Anything in his eyes, in his stance? Hogan knew he should be looking for confirmation, but right now he couldn't find the focus he needed to do it.

"The sabotage operation, Colonel Hogan," whispered Eichberger, close to Hogan's ear. "Headquarters is expecting us to save it if we can. That's why I am here."

Hogan frowned and looked at Eichberger. London had said they would send no one. This had to be a trick.

Didn't it?

"You've got the wrong guy." Hogan shook his head slowly.

Eichberger knitted his brow. "Of course, you have no reason to trust me," he said, not angrily. He stood up. "You are in pain. I have left your wounds untreated too long. I will send in the camp medic to look after you; Sergeant Schultz has been begging me to do as much for the last five days anyway," he said with a slight smile. "You have done well here, Hogan—even the Germans are on your side."

"Schultz does his job. He's a good German soldier."

"And a humanitarian. Something that has always stood you in good stead, I take it."

Hogan shrugged mentally. Physically he couldn't cope with any unnecessary movement.

"We will talk again, Colonel. Keep in mind what I said. I will find a way to prove myself to you."

"There's nothing to prove," Hogan said. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

"I don't think so, Papa Bear," Eichberger said in a low voice.

Only Hogan's eyes responded, and even then, only for a second.

"We shall save the operation, and we shall save you. Orders from above, you know." Eichberger turned and called for the guard. "I will send the medic, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps that will help convince you that I mean what I say. Get some rest. There is much work ahead, for both of us."

The guard appeared and unlocked the cell, and Eichberger walked away without looking back.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Oh, this is a great little infection you've got raging now," Wilson said crossly, as he tried to make quick work of replacing the bandages that had been stripped off of Hogan's hand days earlier. "It's spreading right up your arm. I thought I told you to keep the dressings on."

"I _did_." Hogan's voice was muffled through the towel Wilson had stuffed into his mouth for him to bite down on. "This was—someone else's idea." He hissed the words into the cloth and squeezed his eyes shut.

When Wilson had first lifted the wounded right arm, Hogan had let out a loud cry of pain. The medic immediately noticed the violent redness around the wrist and the inflamed skin of Hogan's forearm and gave the Colonel a towel to bite down on as he worked. Now, as Hogan endured the agony of treatment and redressing, Wilson tried to keep up his usual banter in an effort to distract his patient from what he was doing. "Always great when an untrained person thinks he knows best about these things." He paused just long enough to monitor Hogan's physical reactions. The Colonel was taking groaning, gasping breaths, and his face and hair were damp with perspiration, but he was coping, and so Wilson continued. "Well at least you're back in camp now, right? What made the tyrant have a change of heart about you being cleaned up?"

Hogan fought to concentrate on what Wilson was saying. "You wouldn't believe it," he answered. Wilson finished his work and rested Hogan's arm down in his lap. The tension in Hogan's body seeped away, and Wilson eased the towel from between his clenched teeth. Hogan laid his head back against the wall of the cell with a moan, exhausted from the experience, feeling very little when the medic worked on his other wrist and his abdomen.

"Try me," Wilson prompted. He pulled out a syringe and filled it with antibiotics to fight the infection that had driven Hogan's temperature up. "Somehow, nothing you say strikes me as impossible any more."

Hogan let out a weak laugh. "Sorry to destroy your sense of reality."

Wilson shook his head. "That's okay," he said. "Keeps me interested. Who'd have thought being a medic could be this fascinating?"

Hogan felt the cold prick of the needle. _Thank you_, he thought gratefully. He was too worn out to say it.

"Come on," Wilson persisted, "what's so unbelievable?"

Hogan opened his eyes and took a brief look toward the bars of the cell. There was no guard there, but he was still wary of speaking about this in case someone was listening in. Wilson picked up the cue and investigated, then came back to Hogan's side. "No one here, Colonel. The guard seems to have left."

Hogan raised one eyebrow. "Interesting. I haven't been out of someone's sight since I got here." He took a minute to rally his strength and then said, "Eichberger came by this morning and told me he's been sent by Headquarters to help me."

Wilson's eyes widened. "He _what_?"

"He said he's been ordered to help save the operation."

"But I thought London said no one was coming!"

"They said there would be no replacement Papa Bear. That could just mean that they want me to stay where I am. That didn't rule out anyone else showing up. And that's another thing—he called me Papa Bear."

Wilson stared at Hogan. "Are you sure?"

"I may be sick, but I'm not delirious," Hogan answered. "He was quite clear about it."

"So he knows about you."

"He knows, or he suspects and he's trying to flush me out so he can get all of us. Tell the boys to see what they can find out about Eichberger's background. Maybe Klink will know something. I'm not letting on to anything unless I know he's on the up and up."

"What do _you _think, Colonel?" Wilson asked.

Hogan let his eyes drift shut. "I don't know. He swears he's on the level. Said he would let you in today as a way of proving his story. He's moved the guard away after his specific order that I wasn't to be left unattended. It all looks good, but I don't see him waving an American flag yet. All of this could be a lovely trap, and I'm too cynical to fall into it."

Wilson nodded. "A character trait that has saved your skin countless times, no doubt."

"No doubt."

"Come on; you need a drink." Wilson pulled out a bottle of water he had brought with him and held it to Hogan's lips. The Colonel swallowed greedily then leaned back again. "You up for a shave?"

Hogan opened his eyes, surprised. "Hm?"

"A shave. Do you want a shave? Le Beau said you'd probably be irritable without one, and you _are_ looking pretty scruffy. I've got the stuff right here."

Hogan closed his eyes again. "Probably couldn't stay awake through it, sorry."

"No problem. I'm used to working on people who are unconscious—asleep is easy. Come on, let's take advantage of Eichberger's good nature while we've got it. Lie down here, and I'll look after the rest. It's probably the only chance I'll ever get to have the last word in a debate with you."

Hogan smiled and let Wilson help ease him into a reclining position. He fell asleep as he felt the soap touch his cheeks, relaxing for the first time in a week. Whatever was coming, at least he was safe for now.


	30. Carter for the Defense

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel Klink, we need your help."

The Kommandant sat on his cot in the tunnel, having spent the better part of the week contemplating his future and his past, looking up in surprise at the young Sergeant before him. "_My_ help?" he asked. "It would not seem your standard practice to ask when you need _my_ help, Sergeant. You just manipulate me however you need to."

Carter shifted from foot to foot. He knew the Kommandant was right. But he didn't like the way it was obviously intended to reflect on Colonel Hogan. He avoided answering while he debated how to say what he wanted to say. In the end he just blurted out his thoughts. "Colonel Hogan only ever did what he had to do. He couldn't do what London ordered us to do without getting around you. And no matter how nice a guy you are, Kommandant, Colonel Hogan had to follow orders. And he follows orders even if it gets him in trouble. That's why he's in trouble now. I mean, you told him to get out of camp, and he wanted to get out, too, I mean he was scared to death, you could see it—but London wanted us to blow up that refinery, and so he stayed and did that first, because he thought it would be too dangerous for the rest of us—and then look what happened. I mean if it weren't for the Germans, he wouldn't even _be_ in this kind of trouble. Heck, he wouldn't even be in Germany." Carter faltered to a stop, slowly letting out a breath and taking in the startled expression on Klink's face. "So don't talk bad about Colonel Hogan, Kommandant," Carter finished. "He doesn't deserve it." Then he added, "Sir."

Klink blinked silently for a moment, taken by surprise by Carter's heartfelt defense of his commanding officer. Once again his mind pricked at his conscience—_Could you inspire such loyalty in your own men? It looks like you could have learned a lot from Colonel Hogan_. "I appreciate what you're saying, Sergeant," he answered at last. "And I am learning to accept what Colonel Hogan has told me about what you have all been doing down here. But you must understand that I follow orders as well. And to find out that you have been operating under my nose—under my feet!—all this time, and using me when it suited your purpose—_my_ _enemy's_ purpose—comes as a bit of a shock." Carter said nothing, still recovering from his own outburst. "I respect that Colonel Hogan is a fine soldier. Please tell me what it is you need to know."

Carter cleared his throat and tried to remember what he had come here for in the first place. "We need to know about Captain Eichberger."

Klink snorted. "What about him?" he asked.

"Well, he started out being really nasty to everyone. But now he told Colonel Hogan he's on our side. I mean, the Allies'."

Klink couldn't stop a sarcastic laugh from slipping out. "Oh, really? How do you know this?"

"Colonel Hogan told Sergeant Wilson when he went down there to take care of him."

Klink heard the slight change in Carter's tone of voice, and for just an instant he worried. "Take care of him?"

"Oh," Carter said, trying to sound dismissive but failing miserably, "well, you know, Eichberger had taken off all the Colonel's bandages, and he got an infection."

"And you think this man might be on your side?" Klink asked, incredulous.

"People have to do all sorts of things they wouldn't normally do when they're under cover, Kommandant," Carter explained. "Anyway, the Colonel wants us to see if we can find out anything about Captain Eichberger, to prove his story."

"Well, you won't find out anything from me," Klink said, resigned. "I don't know much about the man, except that he was quite anxious to take over my spot when I was arrested."

"Had you ever heard of him before?" Carter asked.

"Oh, here and there," Klink said, waving a hand lightly as though to show the uselessness of his information. "A bright spark, some upstart who came in from nowhere a few months ago, very aggressive about wanting to move up the ranks." Klink shook his head. "Major Hochstetter will know all about him."

"I don't think he'll tell us much," Carter mused.

"No, I doubt he will," Klink answered.

"Well, thanks, Kommandant." Carter paused. "You know, you're not a bad guy, I mean for a German. I know it might seem confusing right now, but don't worry. Sometimes it's confusing to me, too, but Colonel Hogan always comes up with something, and then it's all clear again." He straightened as though to firm his resolve. "And he'll come up with something this time, too."

Klink nodded thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry you can't go back upstairs," Carter said. "But we'll make it as easy for you as we can. We don't treat anybody bad, honest."

Klink nodded again. It had been playing on his mind quite a bit lately that he would not get to say a proper goodbye to the people he cared about or worked with. And the question of what would happen after he was away from Hogan had also been uppermost in his thoughts. But so far, Hogan's men had been fair, almost kind, to him. And he could only hope that Papa Bear's influence would travel all the way back to London. "You have been very fair-minded with me, considering the situation," Klink acknowledged. "Do you know how long I will be here?"

Carter shrugged. "It depends on what we find out about Eichberger. And on what Colonel Hogan says he wants us to do. Captain Eichberger gave him thirty days in the cooler, so we've gotta wait and see what happens. The Underground is lying low because of all the Kraut activity in Hammelburg right now, so we have to figure out how to get you out, and London's not helping—we think."

Klink had cringed at Carter's choice of words. "Your London doesn't seem very helpful," he observed neutrally.

"No." Carter screwed up his face, the closest he could come to anger. "Y'know, sometimes they make me so mad. Colonel Hogan works really hard for them, and they don't understand what it's like down here—they ask for the impossible, they forget we're prisoners." Carter put on a lopsided smile. "But the Colonel always manages anyway. He doesn't like to send back a message that says we've failed."

"You're very loyal to Colonel Hogan," Klink said.

"Oh, yes, sir," Carter said, suddenly enthusiastic. "We'd just be ordinary prisoners of war if it weren't for Colonel Hogan. Gee, he took command of the unit when London asked him to, even though he wanted to leave, and that wasn't easy, not after the way the Krauts had been hounding him—oops, sorry, Kommandant. But it's true. And he's never let us down, boy, not ever. I mean he won't even let us go out if he thinks there's trouble, and he didn't let us go out the night that London wanted us to blow up that refinery, no, sir, and look at the trouble it got him." Carter smiled sheepishly. "I—I think I already said that."

Klink couldn't think of anything to say in the face of such devotion. "You did," he stated lamely.

Carter shifted feet. "Anyway, Kommandant, that's what I think of Colonel Hogan. And all the other fellas feel the same. So when I tell you that he's going to do the right thing, you can believe it."

Klink nodded. "Yes, Sergeant, I think I can."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan grimaced, eyes still closed, and tried to pull away as he felt a sharp prick in his upper right arm. But a firm hand held him in place, and he blinked himself fully awake to see Wilson easing a needle out of his arm. "You could have warned a guy," he grumbled, using his left hand to rub his eyes.

Wilson put away the syringe and helped Hogan to sit up. "I've been here for ten minutes," he said. "You weren't going to wake up if a brass band played next to you. Besides, you still need your sleep."

"I've been getting it. Why didn't you come yesterday to tell me what you found out?"

"I did. But you still had a fever and you didn't wake up then, either." Hogan was silenced. "Your temperature's down today; how's the pain?"

"A lot better." Hogan tried to obliterate the memory of the last few days, no, make that the last few weeks. "Thanks a lot, Joe. I owe you, big."

Wilson smiled. "I'll just add it on to your tab. Now, how's your thinking? Are you clear enough to remember everything I tell you today?"

Hogan shot Wilson a look, then decided not to pursue the issue. The fact that he hadn't woken up when the medic had visited told him more than he wanted to know. "Yeah, I'm sure I am," he said simply.

"Kinch spoke to London yesterday. They say there was an agent sent in to infiltrate military intelligence in Germany about a year back—code name Black Forest. They said you know the recognition code."

Hogan furrowed his brow, thinking. "Yeah, I do."

"They lost track of him a few months back. They said they were afraid he might have gone to the other side, but they never found him again, and there were no repercussions to your operation, so they presumed he was simply undercover and had not contacted them out of fear of being exposed. They say this might be him, but they're making no guarantees."

Hogan frowned. "Physical description?"

"Matches, Colonel. But there are a lot of men that look like Eichberger, and without a photograph it's impossible to tell if he's the right guy."

"There's _one_ way," Hogan said.

"And there's another thing, too."

"What's that?"

"Klink says Eichberger's a fairly recent acquisition. Made himself known when he joined the ranks, wanted to move up the ladder pretty quickly. Said all the right things to all the right people. Made a lot of friends, and fast."

"Sounds like he could be our man." Hogan shifted on the cot. "Tell the boys to keep watch on Eichberger, but don't let him in on anything—_anything_—until we're sure we've got the real McCoy—_and_ until we know he hasn't turned traitor."

"That won't be a problem. He hasn't made a lot of friends in his time here."

"I don't think that was one of his objectives."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Let me handle Colonel Hogan, General Burkhalter. He is just beginning to relax around me."

"I cannot see why he would feel comfortable with you around, Captain Eichberger. Are you coddling someone who has escaped from the camp?"

"Of course not, _Herr_ General. But if I can get Hogan to trust me, I might be able to get more information out of him. Something Major Hochstetter could not do with all his more... primitive methods."

"Hochstetter is not known for his bedside manner," Burkhalter admitted. "Has he been back to camp since you reported Colonel Hogan's return?"

"No, General, but he has called. He wanted to take Hogan back to Gestapo Headquarters for questioning over this sabotage business. However, as there has been some continued sabotage activity since Hogan first disappeared, I explained that as the camp Kommandant, it is my responsibility to deal with the prisoners, and since the Fuhrer had withdrawn his order of execution, the Major had no right to remove Hogan again. From what I understand, his accusations of espionage are merely a front to continue his campaign against the American. And that will simply disrupt this camp, again."

"So you are suggesting that I not see Hogan either?" Burkhalter asked.

Eichberger hesitated. "Well, yes, _Herr_ General. Since you were the one who passed on the Fuhrer's order in the first place. Perhaps it is best if you do not see Hogan. At least for now."

Burkhalter nodded. "Very well, Eichberger. I will trust you on this." He replaced his hat and headed for the office door. "But keep me informed. I want to know if Hogan tells you anything about where he was when he was out of camp. And if he knows anything about where Klink might be. I am willing to let you do this your way, Captain, because I know that Hogan will not slip away from you as he did from Klink."

"No, General Burkhalter. Hogan will not get out of camp again—at least, not alive."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan raised his eyes quietly to Eichberger's face as the German entered the cell again two days later. "So, Hogan, have you thought about what we talked about the other day?"

Hogan shrugged. "There's nothing to think about. You must have mistaken me for someone else."

"I told you, Colonel Hogan, I do not lie." Eichberger nodded the guard away from the cell and moved in closer. "Have your men not checked out my story?"

"When have I seen my men?" Hogan retorted.

"Come now, Colonel—the medic has been here; I have allowed him in. Surely you have passed on some information to the men in your unit to check me out."

"I've been asleep when he comes; we haven't talked."

"What can I say to make you believe me?" Hogan remained silent. "If I was on the side of the Germans, would I keep everything I know a secret? Would I tell you that I know you are Papa Bear?"

Hogan shrugged. "Maybe. If you were trying to trap me. That is, if there was anything to your story. I don't know anything about this Papa Bear you keep going on about. You're talking out of your hat, Eichberger. You've got nothing on me. And Hochstetter's got nothing on me. This is just a different way of approaching the same old thing. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Eichberger paused. "But the ground is hard and unyielding."

Hogan waited, then said slowly, "So the apple rolls down the hillside."

"And is then fit for nothing but pie. _Now_ do you believe me, Colonel?"

Hogan was tempted. But something still held him back. "Nice little poem you made up there," he said.

Eichberger shook his fists in frustration. "Colonel, that is the code I have been taught. You know that is true. I am Black Forest!"

Hogan's stance didn't change. "Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, US Army Air Corps. 0876707. Nice to meet you."

Eichberger nodded, understanding. "You are cautious. Angry, perhaps, because I have had to act like one of these Nazi pigs in order to infiltrate them. Because I must maintain this charade, and that includes keeping you in here, and treating you this way. But surely you must know what it takes to remain safe in the midst of the enemy. And so do I." Hogan didn't look at him. "General Burkhalter was here yesterday. He wanted to see you, but I sent him away. And Major Hochstetter has been swarming around, asking questions, wanting to take you back to Hammelburg. But I have kept him also at bay. Why would I do this, if I were not on your side?"

Hogan said nothing.

"Very well. You have time to consider. I must keep you in here or risk being exposed to my superiors." Eichberger let out a short bark of a laugh. "Superiors. That's a joke. Those fools cannot see past the ends of their noses." He crouched down to speak more softly near Hogan. "Please, Colonel. I am doing all I can to help. If I wanted to, I could have exposed you by now. You would have been dead instantly."

"Not if Hochstetter had anything to say about it."

Eichberger shook his head regretfully. "No. Not if Hochstetter had anything to say about it. He is a madman, and you have suffered greatly because of him."

"_And_ you."

"And me. I am sorry, Colonel Hogan. To be thought of as one of them, I must act as one of them."

"Maybe you _are_ one of them."

"I am not. My actions will prove my innocence."

"They haven't proven a lot so far."

"I promise you, I am here to help. Please. Please see for yourself."

"I don't have a lot of choice. I've got another twenty-one days before I can even think about life outside this hole. You can do whatever you want, Eichberger. I have no place to go."


	31. An Uneasy Alliance

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan stood in the doorway to his quarters for the first time in over two months, and was unexpectedly overwhelmed by the sight. Everything was as he remembered it, and he had spent a lot of time remembering it while he was sleeping on a rickety cot in the cooler. The lumpy, worn mattresses covered his hard, uncomfortable bunk slats. The scratchy, thin blankets had been neatly spread over them, and his books were all neatly arranged on the shelf near the upper bunk.

Hogan looked over at the desk. His pencils were all sharp, sticking out of the now-rusting tin can that had been fashioned into a holder. Some papers were stacked precisely on the side, and a cup of steaming coffee was sitting in the middle.

Hesitantly, almost warily, Hogan ventured into the room. He fingered the clean, pressed dress shirt that someone had draped over the upper bunk post, and his eyes were drawn to the book that had been placed near the head of the lower bunk. Hogan picked up the book thoughtfully. _Do not be afraid..._ His lips curved into a soft smile, and he started flipping pensively through the pages. _You shall lift up your face toward God. You shall entreat him and he will hear you...._ He nodded and continued, finding the book fell open to those passages he had apparently turned to again and again. _I rock with grief, and am troubled at the voice of the enemy and the clamor of the wicked.... Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me, And I say, "Had I but wings like a dove, I would fly away and be at rest...."_

Hogan closed his eyes and pictured the scene in his mind. Yes. Yes, he would fly away if he could. For a moment he was at peace. But he knew he couldn't leave, not now. And so he opened his eyes with a sigh, and walked over to his desk, putting the book down gently and picking up the coffee with his left hand. He took a sip and tried to get comfortable in his old surroundings.

A quiet knock on the open door pulled him out of his thoughts. "Colonel?"

Hogan looked up to see Le Beau peering in. "Come on in, Louis."

"Welcome back, Colonel," Le Beau said, coming to his side.

"Thanks." Hogan raised his cup slightly. "From you?"

"_Oui_, Colonel. So you feel more at home."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks," he said again. He looked around him. "Never thought I'd be happy to see this garbage can again."

"You have not been in the nicest places."

"This isn't exactly the Hotel Berlin," Hogan responded. He put down his cup and walked over to the window, opening it wide. "But at least it has a window."

Le Beau watched as his commanding officer brought himself back into the role he was meant to have. As far as Louis was concerned, there had never been a question of anyone but Hogan being in charge. If there was no Hogan, there was no operation. And though he was dedicated to the cause they had all been fighting for, if it came down to a choice between the operation and Hogan, Hogan would win hands down. "It has not been the same up here without you."

"It's been pretty ornery where I was, too," Hogan agreed. He continued to stare outside at the other buildings, at the barbed wire fences, at the stark sunlight.

"So what happens now, Colonel?" Hogan didn't answer. Le Beau furrowed his brow. "Colonel?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," Hogan said, turning away from the window. "Eichberger says he wants to see me this afternoon. He says he's got the perfect way to prove what he says."

"Do you think he really is Black Forest, Colonel?"

"I have no doubt at all," Hogan replied. "What I have questions about is his loyalty to the Allies. I'm not quite satisfied yet. But I'm not sure what will make me happy, either. I'll just have to play it by ear."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"You wanted to see me?" Hogan asked as he came into the office.

Eichberger looked up from his paperwork and gestured toward the chair before him. "Yes, yes, please, sit down, Colonel Hogan."

"I prefer to stand," Hogan answered.

Eichberger sighed. "Suit yourself." He laid his hands purposefully on the desk. "I need to know what reservations you have about me, Colonel. I need to know how I can allay your fears that I am working for the Nazis."

"Well, for starters you could recite the Pledge of Allegiance," Hogan replied.

Eichberger laughed softly. "A spy would not hesitate to swear an oath to a country he despised. I think you are toying with me."

"I never joke about my country."

"What about if I told you everything I know? Would that help?"

Hogan said nothing.

"I understand." Eichberger stood up and started pacing to help him think. "Allied Headquarters in London is running an operation out of Stalag 13, run by the former commander of the 504th Bomber Squadron, a certain Robert Hogan, Colonel, shot down about three years ago over Hamburg. Through a combination of good luck and hard work, Hogan and his men have been able to help hundreds of Allied prisoners to escape and get back to England, as well as completing countless sabotage missions in the area, making this one of the most ineffective areas of the war for the Germans in terms of production and transport. This Colonel Robert Hogan's code name is Papa Bear. His _lair_ is a network of tunnels operating under the camp and leading out into the woods, with a small, core group of men inside the camp, and a large number of Underground agents outside the camp, to help him." Eichberger stopped to look at Hogan, who was following him with his eyes but remaining as expressionless as possible. "Since this Papa Bear's recent arrest, escape, and resulting recapture—and I'm not quite sure yet that that last bit was not deliberate, by the way—the number of unexplained acts of sabotage has dropped considerably, with the exception of a handful of minor disasters that seem to have been randomly and occasionally inexpertly handled."

Eichberger arrived back at his desk and faced Hogan head-on. "How am I doing so far?"

Hogan's expression gave nothing away. "Keep talking. This is interesting."

"I shall tell you another story," Eichberger continued. "There once was a man named Franz Eichberger. He was living in England, and he was terribly unhappy about the changes in his ancestral homeland through the 1930s. He was quite anxious to start working for the Allied cause, and thanks to some family connections had no problem infiltrating German military intelligence. He was a very strong man, a very determined man. He passed on information as required to Allied Headquarters back in London, and watched the exploits of the great Papa Bear with tremendous interest. He was thrilled when he was given his own code name: Black Forest. But then he was close to being discovered where he was, and he had to re-invent himself. So he pulled some strings and joined the Luftwaffe, determined to move closer and closer to this Papa Bear, to see if there was anything he could do to be part of his operation. You can imagine his surprise when he learned that the chance to become Kommandant of this camp arose. He immediately expressed his interest in this position, and set to work at once at gaining Papa Bear's trust, so he could help this extraordinary man out of what was obviously a difficult situation."

"That's very noble," Hogan observed. "Why did he drop out of sight of London?"

"Fear of being exposed. He came close more than once. In the end he decided that in order to protect those for whom he was working, he would simply blend in for awhile. But then the chance to make a real difference was too overwhelming, and he had to help Papa Bear," Eichberger finished, his voice dropping, "or risk becoming the traitor he was pretending to be." Hogan remained stoic. "My main contact in London has been Open Book." Eichberger started to look desperate. "Colonel, what else can I say?"

Hogan said nothing for a moment, taking everything in. Finally, he said, "Okay, I'll trust you. You've got the right guy." He sat down, and Eichberger did the same, eagerly leaning forward in his chair. "What do you think you can do?"

Eichberger spread his hands to take in the room. "Why, Colonel, from this position, we can do anything. Unlike when Klink was here, I can work _with_ you; this camp can become the main hub of intelligence and sabotage activity, and a haven for prisoners, instead of a place to fear."

Hogan nodded briefly. "You're certainly ambitious."

"And why not—this is what we have dreamed of, yes? I cannot tell you enough what a privilege it is to work with you, Colonel Hogan. Your work is very highly respected back in London. And even amongst the Germans."

Hogan raised an eyebrow.

"They have watched you with great interest. But they have not been able to get any solid evidence against you. Surely you know they have been after you for years," Eichberger explained.

Hogan briefly raised his right hand and rubbed it gently. "I've gotten the picture, yeah."

Eichberger made a face of discomfort when he looked at the still bandaged, still discolored fingers. "The medic—he has fixed your hand?"

Hogan shrugged. "The best he can. Time will tell." He lowered his hand back into his lap. "London didn't send you here," he said calmly.

"No," Eichberger admitted. "No, they didn't." He shook his head. "They sent me to Germany, but coming to Stalag 13 was my idea. I told you they had because I thought you needed to be assured that I was a friend."

"Don't lie to me, Eichberger. Ever. That's a sure ticket out of my good books."

"I won't—I assure you, Colonel Hogan, it was meant for good. To show you my sincerity."

"Well, you got caught in the lie, and it nearly kept you out of the picture. If anyone's going to be telling tall tales around here, it's me, or you under my command. Got it?"

"Got it."

Hogan nodded. "Okay." His mind started ticking, and he started formulating plans for the first time in weeks. "We've got to get back on track."

"There is news of a convoy passing near this camp in a few days. Ammunition and fuel heading east. I can get full details. You—_we_ can be back in business in no time."

"Okay," Hogan said. "Let me know what you find out." He stood up. "Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'm going to have a shower, _Kommandant_."

Eichberger nodded once, as a small smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "Certainly. You may even take enough hot water for a shave."

Hogan raised his right hand again. "I'm afraid that's still someone else's job for awhile. But I'll take the hot water anyway. Meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you could ask the Red Cross for some new shirts for me. I seem to have lost a couple in the last two months."

"By all means," Eichberger answered. "Hogan, _were_ your men responsible for those acts of sabotage after you were arrested?"

Hogan stayed expressionless. "How would I know?" he asked evenly.

Eichberger smiled knowingly but allowed the response to pass. Hogan turned to go. "Oh, Colonel Hogan—" Hogan turned back toward him. "There's just one more thing I'm curious about."

"What's that?" Hogan asked.

"Colonel Klink. What actually became of him?"

Hogan considered, then replied, "I haven't the faintest idea."


	32. An Operation Reborn

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan nearly dozed off as Le Beau's light touch played a razor along his face, once again shaving his commanding officer and soothing his jagged nerves. He felt a slight thrill of fear as Le Beau's hand touched his neck, but, as he had done all the other times that had happened recently, he forced the panic back, reminding himself that this man's hands were not going to tighten their grip and try to throttle the life out of him.

Aside from the continuing concern about his hand, and occasional sudden tiredness, Hogan had healed quite well physically. But he still woke up most nights in a cold sweat from nightmares that he could only see shadows of, and memories of a reality that he wanted desperately to forget. He had noticed a change in himself—a greater wariness of ordinary situations, a smaller sense of trust. He questioned his motives more often, including his decision to keep Black Forest in the dark about Klink. If he was going to trust Eichberger with the operation, why could he not tell him that Klink was in the tunnel? And some of his humor, the weapon that kept his deepest, darkest fears at bay, had disappeared. That worried him almost more than the nightmares, and it saddened him.

Now, with a hot towel wrapped around his face, and some light humming coming from Le Beau, Hogan was feeling nearly normal again. Much as he hated not being able to do everything for himself, he was enjoying the pampering after eight weeks of hell. But he knew himself well enough to realize that this would only sit well with him for so long, and whenever a sudden jolt of pain in his hand brought tears to his eyes, he cursed Hochstetter and vowed to be completely independent again as soon as possible.

He felt a presence on his left side. "Yeah?" Hogan asked, not opening his eyes.

"Thought you might like a cup of coffee, Colonel."

Hogan opened one eye and saw Carter holding out a steaming cup. Closing his eye again, he smiled patiently and said, "Just put it over on the desk, Carter. I'll have it in a minute."

Le Beau removed the towel from Hogan's face, and Hogan sat up as Le Beau patted some aftershave on his cheeks. "_Voila_, a perfect shave," the Frenchman declared.

"Thanks, Le Beau. You know, if you need a trade after the war, you'd make a great barber. I'd be first in line every morning."

Le Beau tutted. "My work is free at the moment, but after the war, you might have to pay for it." Hogan raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Well, maybe you would get yours for nothing, Colonel."

"Thanks," Hogan said. He turned to Carter. "What's going on around the place?" he asked.

"Kinch is downstairs keeping Colonel Klink company, and Newkirk is trying to teach him how to play poker."

"Teach him how to play?"

"Well, maybe teach him how to cheat."

Hogan laughed softly. "Now that sounds more like it."

"Colonel, I still don't understand. Why didn't you tell Captain Eichberger about Klink?" Carter asked.

"I'm not sure," Hogan answered, clearly still considering the issue himself. He stood up and headed for the coffee. "I just felt more comfortable keeping that a secret." He shrugged as he picked up the cup with his left hand. "Maybe I'm just being too cautious."

"But you told him about yourself, Colonel," added Le Beau.

"He already knows about me. He knows all the codes, he knows the whole set up. He could have sold us out long ago. But I won't let him in on everything just yet." He grimaced at the strength of the brew, then took another sip before putting down the cup. He started pacing the room, rubbing his chin, thinking. "If he's not working for us, it'd be better to have him think he's gained our confidence than for him to be scratching for clues for the duration. As far as Eichberger's concerned, I'm on my own, got it? You're to tell him nothing. He's not to know exactly who else is involved."

Le Beau nodded. "_Oui_, Colonel."

"Now I guess I owe Klink a visit. Heaven only knows how many marks Newkirk's taking him for."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I just wanted to let you know that we haven't forgotten you. We don't normally keep people down here this long. But we've had a few interruptions along the way, and we're hoping to resume normal operations soon."

Klink studied Hogan closely, trying to measure the impact that a month in the cooler had had on the senior POW. He had heard rumblings from the others about Eichberger and Hogan, but not enough to make sense of any of it. And now, getting fed up, he was determined to hear the whole story.

"So I am led to believe," Klink answered. "Hogan, what is going on around here? Is it true that Captain Eichberger is really an Allied agent?"

"That's the sixty-four dollar question," Hogan replied. Klink looked at him, confused. "It's the biggest question of them all," Hogan explained. "He claims to be. Once we're satisfied that he's telling the truth, we'll get you out of here. Special delivery." He turned to Kinch. "What's the news from the Underground?"

"The heat seems to be off. We kept up a bit of work when we could, and some partisans started pulling off a couple of little sabotage jobs in the last few weeks—mainly because they didn't want the Gestapo to have any solid evidence that you were in charge of the operation."

Hogan nodded. Eichberger had mentioned something about amateurish incidents nearby, and Hogan appreciated the fact that the locals were trying to help cover for him, and the operation, in the only way they knew how. "They're good people," he said. "Unfortunately, they're out of practice, thanks to us—the Nazis aren't quite convinced that I wasn't the head of the local operation despite their work. We'll have to relaunch ourselves carefully."

"How are we going to do that, sir?" Kinch asked.

"We'll start small. Carter, there's a bridge about two miles from the refinery. Do you remember it?"

Carter blushed as he recalled that he wasn't supposed to have been anywhere near the refinery the night Hogan was there. "Sure do, boy," he answered. Newkirk elbowed him. "Sir," he added. Newkirk jostled him again. "_He already knows!_" Newkirk looked at him in surprise.

"I want you to go out tomorrow night and get rid of it. Make it good, but not _too_ good. That might just make Hochstetter doubt whether he's got the right guy if he points his finger at me again. Take Louis with you as lookout."

"Right."

"What other little targets have we been meaning to get around to that we haven't done yet?"

"Well, there was that tunnel that the convoys use about five miles from here. The Underground tried it, but they didn't do a very good job of it and the Krauts fixed it up, good as new," Newkirk said.

Hogan nodded. "Then that's next. We'll make it a better job. More professional- looking."

"Won't Hochstetter still be suspicious, Colonel?" Le Beau asked.

"I've never seen him not be. We'll just have to be careful not to get caught," he said, trying to sound light. He hated that it was such a great effort now to sound at ease when contemplating the Gestapo officer. "By the time we're done with those two projects, there should be another little treat ready for us."

"How's that, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"Eichberger says he knows about an important shipment of ammunition and fuel heading toward the Russian front. It'll be passing by this camp, and he wants to blow it."

"Gee, Colonel, is that a smart thing to do?" Carter asked. "I mean—what if it's a trap?"

Hogan shrugged. "How else are we going to find out? I'm afraid we don't have any choice. But I'll do that one myself—I don't want Eichberger knowing who else is involved in this operation, not yet. He hasn't got any more names. He's just been hinting at others. If he gets anyone, it's going to be me alone."

"Not alone, Colonel," Newkirk protested.

Klink watched with interest. He could see now what that over-exuberant Sergeant Carter had been trying to tell him a few weeks ago. Here was Hogan, just out of the cooler, organizing the continuation of an operation that could place him and his subordinates in front of a firing squad, but taking the time and the care to shift the heaviest risk onto himself.

Klink had never before seen a man so aware of all the factors involved in a situation, and it amazed him that after two months of maltreatment by his captors Hogan could rebound so quickly. His mind drifted momentarily back to the day Hogan had been brought into camp, accompanied by General Burkhalter. Staring emotionlessly with a half-lidded gaze in the Kommandant's office, Hogan had seemed like an empty shell. He had said nothing, looked at no one; when reading his file, Klink had wondered just what kind of man he was dealing with. When Hogan's defiance and anger had suddenly flared up, despite all that had been done to him before his arrival at Stalag 13, Klink had reluctantly felt his respect for the American go up.

Now, watching Hogan swiftly take charge of his men, and noting their eagerness to please him and to stay by his side, that level of respect went even higher. He should have learned from Hogan. But then, Hogan had not revealed his true self to Klink, until now.

"Yes, _alone_," Hogan said firmly. "If everything goes smoothly, the rest of you will get involved again." He turned back to Klink. "And then, it'll be time to say _auf Wiedersehen_ to you."

Klink could only nod understanding. His agreement, as Hogan had already made clear, was not required.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan waited anxiously for the trap door in the bunk to open, and only then took a full breath and unclenched his shoulders long enough to release the tension holding them tight. "Are you okay? How'd it go?" he asked immediately, as he pulled Carter awkwardly, left-handed, back into the barracks.

"Fine, Colonel. No problems," Carter answered, brushing himself off and turning to watch Le Beau follow him up the ladder.

"_Oui_. Everything went fine, Colonel," the Frenchman added.

"Good. Any patrols?" Hogan asked.

"One, but nothing we could not handle, Colonel. We just hid in the bushes until they passed," Le Beau reported.

Hogan nodded. "How'd it look?"

Carter grinned. "Like a high school kid did it. But it'll stick."

Hogan shook his head. "I doubt any high school kid could do what you did, Carter. You are one of a kind."

Kinch agreed from the table. "You can say that again."

Carter smiled. "Thanks. No, honest, Colonel, it looks great. But you don't have to worry; no one will think it came from here. Not from me, anyway. I mean I did a good job, but I made it look like it had to be amateurs. And I don't mean amateur like you or Newkirk, no sir, boy—" Newkirk and Hogan exchanged amused glances at the unintended sleight. "—I mean like people who've never even _seen_ dynamite, much less worked with it. I made it look so inexpert that—"

"At ease, Carter," Hogan said. Carter put a lopsided grin on his face and stopped. "Good job," Hogan said to him and Le Beau. "Carter, you'll go back out tomorrow night with Kinch. But I'm not going to play the odds—Newkirk, you go with them and play I Spy. There might be a few more patrols out there, and they'll both need to concentrate on getting the tunnel done. The fewer interruptions the better."

"Yes, sir," Newkirk nodded. "Sir, do you want to come?"

Hogan paused. "No. I think I'll leave it to the experts." Hogan stretched stiffly. "Now let's get some sleep. It looks like we're back in business."

Hogan retreated to his office and shut the door, still hearing the muted sounds of his men in the common room. He was pleased all had gone well, and he was starting to feel more confident about the possibility of being able to resume regular operations. But Newkirk's question had startled him. The thought had never even occurred to him to go outside the fence. And while like any good agent he was always aware that the work he did was perilous, the coldness that penetrated him when he considered it now was a far cry from the usual tightening of his stomach and slight light-headedness he had seen almost as a comfort before heading outside the wire. _Damn you, Hochstetter. You won't get the better of me_, he thought, desperate to believe it. _I'll be back... and you won't know what hit you._ He paced until the adrenalin worked its way out of his body, and eventually he collapsed on his bunk and fell asleep, begging his mind and spirit to recover quickly, so his nightmares would not become reality.


	33. Ideals and Ideologies

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"So how's life under Captain Eichberger, Schultz?"

Hogan walked around the compound with the Sergeant of the Guard, taking advantage of the bright sunshine to bring some color into his pale face. It had been too long since he had spent time outside, and he savored the slim warmth of the day as it seeped into his cold body.

Schultz shrugged. "It started out terrible. But now, it is not so bad. He is a fair Kommandant."

"Anything like Klink?" Hogan pressed.

Schultz tut-tutted. "_Nein_, Colonel Hogan, nothing like the Kommandant. I know this sounds crazy, but I miss him."

"Not so crazy, Schultz. You worked with him for a long time."

"_Ja_, three years. I wonder where he is. But mostly, I wonder if he is well." Schultz sighed and stopped his walking momentarily. "This may surprise you, Colonel Hogan, but the Kommandant was not as fit as I am." Hogan raised an eyebrow. "I walk around all day, back and forth around the camp. The Kommandant, he sits in an office, and calls people to himself. He is not like you, Colonel; he does not fraternize with his men. That is not acceptable in the German military."

Hogan pursed his lips. "Schultz, I wouldn't have it any other way. My men are worth hanging around with, and no difference in rank can make me think otherwise."

"_Ja_, I can see that. You know they feel the same way about you. They were very upset when Major Hochstetter came that day and..." Schultz let his voice drift off, remembering the shock he had felt himself when the Gestapo officer had had Hogan dragged from the morning line up.

Hogan shifted uncomfortably and absently rubbed his abdomen, a frown creasing his features. Schultz started walking again. Hogan kept pace, meticulously studying the ground. "Yeah, well, that was a bad day," Hogan said huskily.

"Colonel Hogan, you were away for a long time," Schultz said in a low voice. "Were you really hiding in the woods, as I have heard? Or were you someplace else?"

"What do _you_ think, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

"Your friends, they knew where you were," Schultz told him. "They were angry about what the Major did to you. But, they did not tell me anything else."

"I thought you always wanted to know nothing, Schultz," Hogan reminded him.

"That is true," Schultz admitted. "But I was worried about you. You have always been a very nice enemy, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan smiled softly. "Thanks, Schultz." He sighed. "Do you really want to know?"

Schultz paused. "I am not sure."

"Take your time; think it over," Hogan suggested. "Then, if you still want to know, I'll tell you."

Schultz nodded as Hogan turned to leave. "Colonel Hogan?" he asked.

Hogan stopped. "Yeah, Schultz?"

"Is Kommandant Klink in the same place now that you were then?"

Hogan didn't answer right away. As much as he wanted to reassure Schultz—and he found himself in that frame of mind often—he wasn't sure the Sergeant could be trusted with such sensitive information. Not with Eichberger around, and not with Hogan not yet completely trusting the Captain not to use the guard in some ploy to trap Hogan and the operation. "Think it over first, Schultz. Sometimes it's better to know nothing."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Another success, gov'nor. A couple of patrols, but they're not likely to trace anything back to us."

"That's right, Colonel. We side-stepped them easily and made short work of that tunnel," Kinch added.

Hogan nodded and took another sip of the coffee that had been sustaining him for the past three nights. "Good. That's one more thing that's been made a bit tougher for the Krauts."

Klink seethed inside. Although he had started to get used to the idea of being kept prisoner under the camp that he had once commanded, he still found it hard to accept that his senior prisoner of war could so easily set about destroying German armaments installations. He decided to speak up. "Colonel Hogan, may I have a word with you?" he proposed, still feeling the need for formality, even in this stark and unusual setting.

Hogan exchanged quick glances with his men. "Go on up, fellas. There's coffee on the stove, and I think Le Beau's put together a midnight snack. I'll be up in a minute." He watched them disappear up the ladder before he turned to Klink. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"Colonel Hogan, I am appalled at the ease with which you send your men out to destroy German targets."

Hogan tried not to laugh. "Why should that be so hard to figure out?" he asked. "It's not like I'm on the side of the Nazis. I'm in this war to help defeat the Germans, remember?"

"But people could be killed—innocent civilians as well as your own men."

"That's a chance we have to take. Believe me, I am fully aware of that every time I send one of my men out."

"And just how do you justify this?"

"Every job has its risks, Kommandant," said Hogan, starting to feel that anger that built up in him whenever Klink questioned his purpose in camp. "We try to minimize unnecessary loss of life. But we do what we do because we have no choice. If the Krauts weren't so determined to make a mockery of human existence, we wouldn't have to be here at all. I know I'd much rather be sitting up in my B-17 dropping bombs anonymously than facing all of this in person on the ground."

Hogan's outburst surprised Klink and himself. Until he said it, Hogan had not fully realized how much he missed being in the air with his men. Then a fleeting, strong memory of his crew passed through his mind, and another, equally powerful image of the mess that led to them having to bail out of Goldilocks implanted itself in his brain. He remembered the devastation he felt when he found out the fate of his crew, and the overwhelming relief when his "Baby Bear," Mark Bailey, had defied the odds and shown up at Stalag 13. In this split second of memories, Hogan turned away from Klink. "But I wasn't given any choice when I was shot down. And so I'm fighting the only way I can," he added quietly.

"You are still talking about my homeland, Hogan."

"And you're still talking about mine." Hogan crossed and uncrossed his arms angrily. "Look, Klink, we might as well come to an understanding about this. Your part in this war is over, at least from the Nazis' point of view. All you can do now is hopefully save a lot of lives on the side of the Allies."

"What makes you so sure I want to do that?" Klink asked, also starting to get hot under the collar.

"I think you want to do that because you feel unfairly treated by your own kind. Since when has any of the brass treated you with the respect you deserve? Since when has anyone but you been concerned with the Geneva Convention? Since when has anyone ever even considered questioning the ideologies of that Bubblehead Hitler?"

"Hogannnn...."

"Let's face it, Kommandant, when it comes right down to it, you're a little fish in a big pond. But only on the surface. To the Allies, you are now one of the most important people in the war. The information you have could save countless lives—for all I know, my own name is in that thick skull of yours, not to mention the names of any German who's even _thought _that Hitler's moustache looks stupid. I send my men out to do their jobs, but they're all volunteers. Not a single one of them has ever been forced to stay. That's gotta tell you something about what they think of your Master Race garbage."

"That does not mean that they are right."

"Do _you_ think they're right?" Hogan stopped his tangent, and watched Klink carefully for his reply.

Klink opened his mouth as though to respond right away. But he seemed to think better of it and waited. After a moment, he said, "I cannot say that I am happy with you going around Germany and destroying bridges, tunnels, convoys... Colonel Hogan, the German way may not be a way that you are happy with. But Hitler brought this country hope that it had not had in years. A sense of pride that we had lost before he became our leader."

"That was before the war. And now? Can you say you're honestly proud of the Fatherland?"

"Now?" Klink's voice trailed off as he considered. "Now... we have beautiful artworks..."

"Stolen from the best museums in Paris."

"And lovely music..."

"But without a lot of stuff that you enjoy—like swing, and American band music!"

"And bright, dedicated children..."

"Who're expected to 'Heil Hitler' at least fifty times a day, just like everyone else."

"So we are not perfect, Hogan," Klink said. "But we are human."

"And you're scared." Hogan shook his head. "When's the last time you felt comfortable standing up to Burkhalter, telling someone higher up that you thought their decision might not be the right one?"

"That is not the German military, Hogan. We have respect for our superiors."

"Even if it means destroying yourself."

"I stood up for you. I warned you of the trouble coming. I took my life in my hands, Hogan."

"And I appreciate that," Hogan answered. "Really, Colonel, I can't tell you what that warning meant to me. I know it was hard to give." Hogan's voice softened. "Maybe we need to agree to disagree. Never discuss politics with friends, right?"

"Friends, Hogan?" Klink asked warily.

Hogan shrugged. "You stuck your neck out for me; we stuck our neck out for you. There must be an element of friendship there somewhere."

"Not just something done for military gain?" Klink said doubtfully.

"No, Kommandant," Hogan replied. "If that were the case we'd just get someone to come here to get the information from you, hypnotize you all over again, and feed you back to the angry mob looking for you at Gestapo Headquarters." Klink shivered. "Somehow that just didn't sit right with me."

"Now that's something we can agree on," Klink said, starting to relax.

"In time, maybe you'll understand why I do what I do."

"I think I do, Hogan. You are a soldier doing his job. Believing in your cause. I just can't get used to the idea of it. I always thought somehow I would survive this war."

"You'll survive, Kommandant. I'll see to that myself."

"Thank you, Hogan." Klink stopped for a moment to absorb everything. "Have you really been doing this since you got to camp?"

Hogan shrugged. "We started a few months after I arrived."

Klink shook his head, still amazed. "I can't believe I never saw... never suspected... Hogan, you are a very, very clever man. You are a credit to your country."

Hogan inclined his head modestly. "Thank you, sir."

Feeling uncomfortable, Klink decided to abruptly change the subject. "What do you think of Eichberger?" he asked.

"Not sure yet. He seems okay. I'll be having a meeting with him tomorrow to see what he's got up his sleeve." Hogan rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "I'd better hit the sack. That coffee's the only thing that's been keeping me going the last few days, and if I have another cup I'll float away."

"You are recovering, Hogan?" Klink asked. It amazed him that Hogan had survived the attacks by Hochstetter and his men at all. That the American seemed to be able to function without lasting side effects was mind-boggling.

"Getting better every day, Kommandant." Hogan put his left hand on the ladder. Klink noticed once more that Hogan still favored his right hand, putting very little pressure on it and avoiding gripping anything with it. Once in awhile, he had spied Hogan, when he didn't think he was being watched, pulling up short and quite obviously dealing privately with some discomfort, drawing his hand to himself and silently breathing his way through pain. But Klink always said nothing, sensing that Hogan did not want to share this experience with anyone, least of all his enemy. "Thanks for asking."

Klink nodded. "That's the least a friend can do, Hogan."

Hogan grinned. "Don't worry, Kommandant. I'm sure I'll find plenty for you to do soon enough."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"There have been more acts of sabotage in the last couple of days around this area, Colonel Hogan," Eichberger said to the American the next day.

Hogan put on a look of surprise. "Have there?" he asked.

Eichberger smiled like a naughty boy. "Come now, Colonel. You're not going to suggest that you didn't have any part in it?"

Hogan shrugged his shoulders. "You're the one who said the locals have been acting up. That has nothing to do with me."

"Either that or your own men are following your orders. Is that not possible?"

Hogan just stared back at Eichberger. "Who says I have men working for me?"

Eichberger smiled again, broadly. "Oh, now, Colonel Hogan, remember I know _something_ about your operation. Now which was it—them, or the local Underground?"

"I wouldn't have a clue. I've been a bit indisposed."

"You never give up, do you?" Eichberger observed, amused. "Well, no matter. I have the information on that ammunitions and fuel convoy. It is passing so close to camp that it would be a crime not to do something about it."

"So why don't you do it yourself?"

Eichberger laughed. This Hogan was indeed an entertaining man! "And how do you suggest I do that?"

"You're the idea man, Eichberger. You tell me."

"You still don't trust me, do you, Colonel?" Eichberger shook his head. "I can only think of one thing to convince you, and that is to help you do this job myself." Hogan crossed his arms and looked at Eichberger steadily. "The convoy is scheduled to pass by on the main road at about oh-two-hundred hours, day after tomorrow. I will organize to have explosives available outside the fence from midnight onwards. Then you and I will set about making sure the trucks don't reach their destination."

Hogan merely raised an eyebrow. He was getting used to letting Eichberger do the talking.

"Are you amenable to this, Colonel Hogan?" asked Eichberger.

"It sounds intriguing."

"But you are still not quite convinced of my sincerity," the Captain concluded. He sighed. "I can see why you have been so successful for so long, Hogan. Your natural wariness must stand you in good stead. But really, this time you are worrying over nothing. I will help you. We can work together."

Hogan considered for a moment, then said, "Okay, we'll try it. I have nothing to lose here, and everything to gain, right?" Eichberger nodded. "Give me a meeting point. When the time comes, you'll have the explosives ready to go. We'll work on my mark, and then get back to camp on the double. No fancy stuff, no funny business."

"What about an escape plan for you? Shall I organize it?"

Hogan shook his head. "I'll take care of that myself."

"Maybe I should meet you in the tunnel. Where does the system begin?"

Hogan felt his stomach muscles tighten. He had never revealed the details of the tunnel network to Eichberger. "The less you know, the better."

"Shouldn't I go out with you?"

"No, I'll meet you there. You just name the place."

"There is a small woodshed about one hundred meters away from the main gate. You must have seen it when you returned to camp last month." Hogan nodded. "There is protection from the camp's searchlights there. It seems like the most logical place to meet. We can go from there to the convoy road. Meet me there at oh-one-hundred."

"I'll be there."


	34. A Night Out

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I've gotta admit, I don't like this, Colonel," Kinch said, as he watched Hogan pull a black turtleneck shirt over his head.

Hogan winced briefly as the action stretched muscles and wounds that were still healing. "I'm not thrilled with it either, Kinch, but this is the way it has to be."

"I wish you'd let at least one of us go with you."

"No," Hogan said. "And no shadows this time, either," he added, eyeballing the Sergeant. "This time I go solo. For real."

Kinch nodded and lowered his eyes to the floor. "Right, Colonel."

Hogan registered the unhappiness on Kinch's face and softened his tone. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But if Eichberger turns out to be a real live Kraut, I'd rather he capture someone he already knows about. There's no point in him getting everyone."

Kinch nodded. "I know."

Hogan went out into the common room and reached under Newkirk's bunk for the face paint. "Eichberger's promised no surprise bed checks tonight," he said. "So I should have a smooth run out of here. He doesn't need to be near the tunnel exit, not yet, so we're meeting at the woodshed outside camp. I can only hope his dynamite is as good as yours, Carter."

Carter frowned. "If he's not an expert at it, Colonel, it could be dangerous stuff! I mean it's not like _my_ stuff." Hogan smiled. Only Carter could conceive of a situation where dynamite _wasn't_ dangerous.

"Don't worry, Carter. Eichberger's supposed to be using some of this stuff himself. I hardly think he'll use anything that he could accidentally blow himself up with."

"Well... just watch yourself," Carter said, grudgingly.

Hogan paused in his preparations to regard the Sergeant. "Thanks," he said seriously. "I will."

Le Beau spoke up. "What's the plan if something goes wrong?" he asked reluctantly.

Hogan didn't miss a beat. "Close up shop and get out." He took a moment to give his command stare to his men. He rarely did it, but when he did, Hogan's crew knew he was dead serious, and they didn't dare disobey. "One sniff that anyone is selling us out and you burn everything, collapse the tunnels, and run. No heroes. Got it?"

"What about Klink?" Newkirk asked.

"Take him with you if you can. He's still got information we need." Hogan handed the paint to Newkirk. "Okay, it's time to go. I'll see you fellas later."

"When should we start to worry?" Kinch asked, trying to sound light.

"When neither of us shows up for morning roll call. Because if I don't come back, I'm going to make darn sure Eichberger doesn't make it back, either."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan very slowly and carefully poked his head out through the tree stump that was the end of their tunnel. Pulling the lid down as a light from the guard tower swept over the lid, Hogan took a deep breath and waited, then plunged into the night when the beam's circle was focused elsewhere. He looked all around him as he made his way to the appointed rendezvous, then hid in the scrub near the perimeter of the forest and waited for a sign of his contact.

Hogan spent some time watching his breath appear in white streams before him, and registered the cold uncomfortably. Then a sudden movement nearby moved his attention to the shed, and he watched intently as a figure appeared, carrying something. Hogan scanned the area; the person seemed to have come alone.

A light birdcall broke the stillness. Hogan returned the call and emerged cautiously from his hiding place, appearing at Eichberger's side so silently that the Captain actually jumped when Hogan drew himself up to make contact. "Hogan—you _did_ come."

"What did you think—that I'd let an opportunity to mess up the Krauts' plans slip by?" Hogan looked for a gun in Eichberger's hands. There was none. Then his gaze slipped to the bag Eichberger had put on the ground. "What's in the pack?"

"Dynamite. Grenades. Some fuses—I wasn't sure what you would want to use. You're the expert, after all. I'm here to learn from you."

"Well the first thing you need to learn is that flattery will get you nowhere. And staying out in the open will get you killed." He nodded toward the darkness of the trees. "Let's get moving. We need to get to the roadside along the convoy's route. You know where it is. Take us there."

"Right." Eichberger sounded almost like an eager child as he picked up the pack and started striding toward the trees.

Hogan pulled him up by the arm. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he asked. He crouched down low and pulled Eichberger with him as a light from the camp made its circuit overhead. "You can't just waltz around out here. Pay attention or you'll get us both shot!" He advanced toward the body of the forest at half-height and in absolute silence. Eichberger tried to follow suit; Hogan could hear a couple of footsteps, but nothing that couldn't be passed off as general sounds of the woods. _So far, so good._

Finally Eichberger took the lead and in a short time he and Hogan had reached their destination. "The convoy is scheduled to pass by here at two o'clock," he said.

Hogan looked at his watch in the dim light. "It's after one-thirty now. We'll have to get this stuff ready to go." He gestured toward the bag. "Let's get started."

Hogan let Eichberger open the pack and start removing the contents. Neat, professional-looking explosives soon piled up around them. _Carter would approve_, Hogan thought with an inward chuckle. "Nice stuff," he commented.

"It's all good quality, Colonel. Nothing that can accidentally go off and get either of us killed," Eichberger said pointedly.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Hogan replied dryly. "Have you got a gun?"

Eichberger looked startled. "A gun?"

"A gun," Hogan repeated. "Something to have out in case a patrol suddenly shows up and wants to make short work of us."

"Oh," Eichberger said, relaxing. "No. I didn't bring one."

Hogan let out a disgusted breath. "Great," he said. He pulled his Lugar out of his pocket. "Here, hold on to this," he ordered, practically shoving it into Eichberger's hands. "And make sure the safety's on while you've got it pointed in my direction."

Eichberger looked at the weapon with some surprise. "Colonel Hogan—where did you get this?"

"Don't ask questions," Hogan replied. "And next time think ahead. What makes you think everything's going to run smoothly all the time?"

Eichberger looked properly chastised. "Sorry, Colonel. I'm new at this."

"You won't have a chance to get old at it if you keep this up."

"Sorry."

Hogan let an uncomfortable silence sit between them as he went to work at organizing the things Eichberger had brought with him. Hogan had to admit that the Captain was certainly playing the role of novice agent very well. Taking Carter's advice, Hogan didn't rely on Eichberger to prepare any of the explosives; he could only trust what he did himself.

Finally Eichberger broke the silence. "Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan paused only for a second, and looked Eichberger. Then he looked away, seemingly absorbed in attaching a fuse to a stick of dynamite. "What?" he replied curtly.

"Why did you give me this gun?"

"I told you—to make sure we're covered while we're doing this. You can't leave things to chance."

"I know that," Eichberger replied. "But I mean, why did you hand it to me? It's clear you don't trust me yet. Why give me a weapon?"

Hogan didn't look up from his work. "Because for all I know you have half a dozen goons surrounding us right now, waiting to shoot me at the first sign of espionage. If you're going to do it, you're going to do it." Eichberger took on another startled look. "At least this way, if you're on the level, you can keep watch for those same types of goons, and use the weapon for good instead of evil." Hogan stopped. "You _do_ know how to use the thing, don't you?"

Eichberger nodded. "Oh, yes, Colonel. An expert shot."

"Good. Okay, this is finished; let's go."

"Let's go where?"

Hogan sighed. Maybe this Eichberger was exactly what he appeared to be—a greenhorn. "We have to move in closer to the road so when the trucks come by we have a chance of lobbing some of this stuff into them."

"Oh. Right."

"Come on." Hogan led the way to a secure area in the scrub. Once there, he took the gun back from Eichberger and hid it in his clothes. Then he held up a lighter and some dynamite. "Think you can handle this?" he asked. "Or would you rather go with the grenades?" Eichberger gulped and didn't answer right away. Hogan nodded. "Right; you go with the dynamite. At least you'll have a chance to throw it before it blows up in your face." He handed the incendiaries to the Captain. "These are set with one minute fuses. You light them, you throw them, you get the hell away. Got it?"

"Got it."

All that was left now was to wait and see if Eichberger's information about the convoy was correct, and if Hogan would make it home to tell the fellas either way.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Bunks creaked and blankets shuffled as Hogan's men tried to wait out the time their commander was away without driving themselves mad. Due to the time of night, they had turned out all the lights, so as not to attract any unwanted attention from the guards, but that left them with very few options.

Kinch had considered heading downstairs to the tunnel, but he knew Klink was sleeping there and he didn't want to have to deal with the Kommandant's incessant questions if he woke up. What he really wanted was a crossword puzzle. A small square of mysterious words that would eat up his time, and make him concentrate on something other than the worry eating away at him. He tried to imagine Hogan at his cheekiest, an attitude that always made the Sergeant feel like everything would turn out all right in the end. But somehow now the image wouldn't come, and he could only picture the determined look on Hogan's face as he headed out. "Never say die, boys," he had said, when they first questioned him about the possibility of getting the operation fully functioning again. Funny, Kinch would have thought after all he'd been through that Hogan would be perfectly happy to head back to London. But then, that wasn't the Colonel. He was never one to simply sit back and let the war slide by without having his say in its outcome. Kinch lay back on his bunk again and sighed. Sleep wouldn't be coming tonight.

Le Beau rolled over on his mattress above Kinch and tried to think about what kept him here. It wasn't the food, that was for sure. No matter how well he disguised the food with extra treats bought on the black market, or how he manipulated the Red Cross packages to their best advantage, the food was still cardboard. It wasn't a love of fighting; though he was passionate about his homeland, and would do whatever it took to defend her, it was always with a slightly sad heart that he went about his duties outside the camp, knowing that it could be the last time any number of people saw their families. It wasn't even a sense of duty. Colonel Hogan had given all of them the opportunity to leave, with no stigma attached. Le Beau himself had more than once said he was leaving the operation, to go back to France and fight in his own way. No, it had to be something else. And it finally dawned on him what it was: Hogan himself. No other leader he had encountered had ever been so persistent, so dedicated, so willing to put himself in the thick of things. True, Le Beau had had compassionate people to work with in the past, but Hogan was different. He said little, thought a lot, and backed up his words with action. And if there was danger to face, he didn't try to hide it or make it seem less than it was; he was honest with his men, and in turn, they were honest with him, and they trusted him, trusted him with their very lives. And he had shown that he trusted them as well. _And now he is out there without us, with someone none of us trusts_. Le Beau rolled over again, and listened for the signal that would mean Hogan had come home.

Carter lay flat on his back, staring up at the slats on the bunk over his head, and ran through all the chemical equations he could think of. Every piece of scientific knowledge he had was being bandied about inside his brain. He moved his lips as he silently worked out formulas, crossing out mentally when he made a miscalculation, and starting again from scratch. His mind drifted to his lab downstairs, where he concocted some potions that no one wanted to know about, but everyone was happy to use. That made Carter happy; people trusted him with something important, really important. That had not been the case very often before he came to Stalag 13. He could still remember when they had received their first drop of nitroglycerin: he and Colonel Hogan had gone out to get the stuff together, and Hogan had been stunned at the knowledge Carter had about the substance and its storage. And when everyone else had run away during its unpacking, Colonel Hogan had stayed nearby, even though Carter could tell he had been nervous. _Trust._ What a gift Hogan had given him. And now, with Hogan out of camp with a man about whose allegiance they were all still uncertain, Carter wondered if he would ever get a chance to thank him.

Newkirk frowned as he punched his mattress, trying to move the lumps to a less intrusive location. _Bloody Krauts, don't know the meaning of a decent night's sleep_. He dropped back down heavily. Who was he kidding? He wasn't going to be getting any sleep anyway. Not with the gov'nor out with Eichberger. Why did Hogan have to go out alone anyway? Why wouldn't he let them follow, in case anything went wrong? _You've answered your own question, mate—in case anything goes wrong_. Officers. Had to show they were in control all the time. No, Newkirk corrected himself, he knew it was different with Colonel Hogan. The only time he insisted on the privileges of his rank was when he was concerned about the safety of his men. And then he seemed to ignore his own rank and do the hard work himself. _Like tonight_, Newkirk thought. _Stubborn._ He considered for a moment, then adjusted his thinking. _No, not just stubborn. Protective. You won't let us do anything you wouldn't do._ He sighed and sat up again, knowing he would be wasting his time closing his eyes. _But we'd have done **this** for you, gov'nor.... And if I wasn't so sure you'd be more offended by me disobeying your orders, I'd be out there with you right now, proving it!_ He reached under his mattress for his desk of cards, and in the darkness started to deal himself a hand.


	35. Call It What You Will

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan found himself facing five pairs of anxious eyes when he dropped off the last rung of the ladder at the tunnel entrance. He merely blinked his surprise, too tired to wonder why they were all still up, and why they had Wilson with them. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

Hogan's men surrounded him and unnecessarily guided him through the tunnel to the ladder that led to the barracks. When they got upstairs, they immediately sat him down at the common room table, firing questions left and right, leaving Hogan unable to hear any one person clearly. Finally, he just said over the noise, "It was fine, it was all fine."

Wilson sat down on the bench nearest him and tried to look into Hogan's eyes. "What are you doing here?" Hogan asked, as Wilson pulled at his eyelids.

"Are you kidding? Heading out on a mission without my permission? That's against the rules." Wilson reached for Hogan's arms. "Let me see. How did these work tonight?"

"I said everything was just fine," Hogan answered.

"No problems? What about gripping things?"

Hogan shrugged. "A bit tough with the right hand, but I managed."

"How do they feel?"

"They're fine!"

Wilson sat back and released Hogan's arms. Hogan's right hand looked a bit swollen, and Wilson suspected it was somewhat tender to the touch. He wasn't satisfied, but he knew he wouldn't get anything else out of the Colonel, especially with his men around. "You've got a date with me later this morning," he said pointedly. He stood up and nodded to the others. "Make sure he keeps it."

"Will do," Kinch said, much to Hogan's dismay.

Wilson disappeared back down the tunnel, and Hogan's men got down to details. "What was it like, Colonel? Was Eichberger there?" asked Le Beau.

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, he was there. Green as grass, but he was there. Kept his side of the bargain. Came up with dynamite, grenades, did exactly as he was told. I made sure he was back in camp before I came in through the tunnel."

"What do you think of him?" Newkirk asked. "Is he for real?"

Hogan shrugged his shoulders. "Seems to be," he said. "So far so good."

"How was his dynamite?" Carter piped up.

Hogan smiled tiredly. He should have known. "It was fine, Carter. Not as good as yours, of course, but it got the job done. I tell you what, it was strange working with an amateur again—I'll stick to you and your know-how any day, Carter. I didn't like making all the decisions about what went where."

Carter smiled, satisfied.

"So what happens now?" Kinch asked.

Hogan stood up and stretched carefully. "Now we get some sleep. Roll call comes early, and we want to look our best, don't we?"

"It's not like Eichberger won't know where you've been 'alf the night," Newkirk said.

"True," Hogan agreed. "But we want to make a good impression anyway, don't we? And you fellas should look fresh as a daisy in the morning. You have no reason to be tired, especially since you don't know what's going on, right?"

"Right," Le Beau said reluctantly.

"Well, at least we can sleep better, now that we know Eichberger's okay," Carter said cheerfully.

Hogan agreed as the others added their support to the statement, then turned in for the night. He only wished he could believe that it was true.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Eichberger motioned for Hogan to sit down. "Please, Colonel, I am most anxious to have your opinion about last night," he said as Hogan pulled up a chair.

"You came through for us, Eichberger. That convoy isn't getting anywhere." Hogan still sounded non-committal.

"So I have shown you where my loyalties lie. Now can we work together?"

Hogan nodded slowly. "Yeah. But under _my_ command. You lead the camp; the operation is ultimately my responsibility, and I won't have anyone blowing it. And that includes the Kommandant of Stalag 13. And you're to treat me exactly the same way you did before. There's to be no preferential treatment, otherwise you might give the whole thing away."

"Oh, absolutely. Yes, Colonel."

"There's one thing I still don't understand, Eichberger. How did you get into the Luftwaffe? I thought you were supposed to have infiltrated military intelligence. Now, the Luftwaffe is a lot of things, but intelligent is not one of them."

Eichberger nodded. "You be assured you are right in that regard, Colonel. Intelligence is not the Luftwaffe's strong point."

"You can say that again," Hogan interjected.

"I stayed in Abwehr for quite some time. Several months, in fact. But it became apparent that I was not cut out for that work within the German military—funny, because that was what I was eminently suited for back in London—and instead of taking the risk of being shuffled out and sent to the Russian front, I decided to wrangle a transfer to a different branch of the military."

Hogan frowned. "You could have just escaped if you were going to be sent east. I'm sure London wouldn't have expected you to be fighting against our allies."

"That's exactly why I moved, Hogan. I didn't want to escape. I wanted to help. And the more complicated they made the job, the more I was worried about being found out, so I got while the getting was good. They were strangely amenable to my transfer. Maybe they were just trying to get rid of me," Eichberger considered with some amusement. "They don't care for inefficiency, and I just couldn't get the hang of the work."

"And you dropped out of sight because..."

"Because I was suspicious of their eagerness to move me. I thought perhaps I had been found out and they were waiting to pounce. So I stayed out of contact because I didn't want them getting anyone further up the line. I had many contacts in Berlin, and I didn't want any of them to be compromised."

Hogan nodded. "Sounds logical. It was a good move."

"So now, Colonel. Now we can get to work?"

Hogan nodded again. "Yep. Now we can get to work. I've been a bit out of touch lately, don't know a lot of what's going on around town. I'll leave it to you to come up with the next target."

"You can count on me, Colonel Hogan."

"I'm betting on it."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I don't know; I just can't get myself to trust him completely yet," Hogan said to Wilson, as he submitted to the medic's procedures. He fought to blink as Wilson held his one eye, then the other, pried open while he stuck a light beam in his face.

"Well, that's not really unexpected," Wilson replied. He snapped off the light and motioned for Hogan to unbutton his shirt. "I mean, after what you've been put through, you have every right to be a little wary of _anyone_ German, don't you think?" He pulled back the shirt and examined the Colonel's abdomen. The wounds had closed, but the scars remained as final healing continued. A gentle probe of a couple of what had been the deeper lacerations made Hogan flinch. "That's going well," Wilson observed. "No infection, no more bleeding."

"See? I told you I was a good boy," Hogan responded. "Thing is, I don't know what's bothering me about him," Hogan continued.

Wilson watched as the Colonel struggled to rebutton his shirt, stopping once or twice to massage his right hand. Obviously, there were still problems. "Still giving you trouble?" he asked, taking hold of the hand as Hogan tried to avoid his gaze.

"A little."

"Hard to maneuver?"

"Sometimes. It just aches, and sometimes I can't get it to do what I want."

"I'm not surprised." Wilson gently pressed on the knuckles at the base of Hogan's fingers. Hogan grunted as his hand spasmed in response. "They're still not in the best shape," Wilson added, flexing the two outer fingers just lightly. Hogan bit his lip. "They're a lot better, but you still have to go easy on them."

"I _am_," Hogan said. He caressed his sore hand when Wilson let go. "Haven't you noticed my shaving is a bit off?" He put his left hand up to scratch a bit of stubble he had missed this morning. "Can't get it all. And I'm sick of asking Le Beau to be my barber."

"Hey, that's not so bad. Not everyone can have a manservant in the middle of World War Two." Wilson finished his work and faced his superior officer. "Now, why don't you talk to me about Eichberger?"

Hogan waved the idea away. "You don't want to hear about that. It's just me being paranoid."

"What you call paranoia, I call a sixth sense. And I trust yours more than anyone I've ever met."

Hogan gestured helplessly as he tried to put his gut feelings into words. "I don't know, Joe, there's just something I don't like. Maybe it's just because he was out of touch with London for so long. I mean, he did the right thing last night; he could have had a trap waiting for me, but he didn't. And he knew all the recognition codes, knew my code name...I'm just off balance, I think. Not getting much input from London isn't helping, either."

"So what would make you feel better?"

Hogan laughed gently. "A nice hot bath in a nice big bathroom in Connecticut."

Wilson smiled. "I'm afraid we're a little short of those in the middle of Germany. How about a cold shower?"

"That's all I've had for the last three years." Hogan grinned. Joe always did know what to say.

"Look, Colonel. If you're uncomfortable, why don't you find out if you can trace Eichberger's trail—from when he got here, to when he fell out of touch, to when he reappeared. Someone must have information, and once you've been able to confirm it all, you'll feel better."

"Either that or I'll wish I'd never met him." Hogan nodded. "That's a good idea." He stood up. "Thanks, Joe," Hogan said sincerely. "I'm sure I'm way too far in your debt to ever repay you." He headed for the door.

"That's okay, Colonel. I think I owe you a few, too. But, hey, if you're ever not sure how to pay up—"

Hogan turned back from the door and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "You can always loan me Le Beau for the day. I'd love to have my own personal barber."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Kinch, get on the horn to London. Tell them I want some answers, and I want them sooner rather than later."

"Right, Colonel."

"What's going on, Colonel?" asked Le Beau, as Hogan started to follow Kinch downstairs.

"We're going to get to the bottom of Eichberger so I can get a decent night's sleep!"


	36. Doubts

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch handed Hogan a clipboard full of his scribblings and watched as the Colonel looked it over. "Well that's something, but it still leaves us plenty in the dark," Hogan said with a sigh. He moved to the desk in his office and sat down. "We've got to get more; this isn't enough to make a solid judgment on."

"London says they didn't hear anything about him after that until we told them he was here," Kinch informed his commander.

Hogan shook his head. "There has to be more," he said. He stayed silent for a moment, thinking. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Got it. Kinch, remember Major Hans Teppel, Abwehr?"

"You mean that Morrison fella, the American?"

"That's right—Robert Morrison, from Milwaukee. He's been with Abwehr for ten years. If Eichberger was with military intelligence, he's bound to have come across him. Let's see if we can't get a little information from a former superior officer."

"How are we supposed to get through to him? It's not like I can say I'm just curious about my new Kommandant."

"_You_ can't... but someone else can," Hogan said. "How about this: get Newkirk to put on one of his Kraut accents and call Abwehr Headquarters. Have him ask for Teppel, and tell him General Burkhalter wants a meeting here at Stalag 13, to review recent events. Use the code I have so he's knows it's us. Then have Newkirk ring Burkhalter to suggest the same thing. We should be able to make contact with Morrison while he's here and fill him in. He's bound to be able to give us some background information."

"And what happens if Burkhalter finds out he's been set up for a phony meeting? Won't he go off his head?"

"In front of Abwehr?" Hogan asked. "Not a chance. We'll just have to make sure we get to Teppel first."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk came up from the tunnel, heaving a sigh as he approached Hogan's office. Hogan met him on the way out, and frowned at the downcast look on the Corporal's face. "What's the matter?" Hogan asked, concerned.

"No go, sir. Teppel's on rest leave."

"Rest leave!" Hogan echoed. "That's great; that's just great. When is he supposed to be back?"

"Not for two weeks. All I could do was leave a ruddy message."

"You made sure they took down the code?"

"Yes, sir. He'll know for sure it was us when he gets back from his holiday."

"And by then, we'll have dug ourselves in even deeper."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan took a moment to let his eyes follow Hilda as she walked around the desk outside the Kommandant's office. In his life as senior POW officer under Klink, Hogan had often had time for some brief rendezvous with the attractive blonde secretary. And she had willingly responded to his attention—sometimes for nylons, or perfume, or chocolate, and sometimes just for her own pleasure. But since his arrest and subsequent return to camp, Hogan had been pre-occupied, and flirting had been the last thing on his mind. Until this morning. _I must be feeling better_, Hogan thought with some mischievous satisfaction.

Hilda turned from the filing cabinet she had swayed to and looked Hogan in the eye. "Captain Eichberger is in conference this morning, Colonel Hogan. I don't think he is ready to see you yet today." She smiled coyly at him and went back to her desk.

"Conference?" Hogan repeated. "But there's no one in there with him, is there? I didn't see anyone come into camp."

"No," Hilda confirmed. "But he is on the telephone with Major Hochstetter." She made a face. "I don't think things are going very well. He has raised his voice more than once."

Hogan furrowed his brow. "Hochstetter, huh? How long have they been at it?"

"About fifteen minutes. Why?"

"Just wondering. Klink couldn't last two minutes with ol' Wolfie. I was curious about how long Eichberger could hold out."

Hilda paused in her paperwork. "It was very different working for Kommandant Klink than it is working for Captain Eichberger," she said.

"Different?"

Hilda shrugged. "Maybe it is because the Captain is new, but he spends much more time talking with Berlin. He does not seem to be happy trying to run things himself. At least Colonel Klink had some independence."

Hogan let what Hilda was saying sink in. "Well, he probably needs more help. After all, a lot happened here that never happened when Klink was around," he said slowly.

Hilda shrugged. "Perhaps. But all that shouting." She shook her head distastefully.

Hogan smiled and came in closer to the desk. "You need to get your mind off your troubles," he said in a low voice.

"_My_ troubles?" she asked. "I don't think I have any troubles, Colonel Hogan." But Hilda smiled winningly at Hogan all the same.

He sat down on the corner of the desk. "Mm, that's too bad," Hogan said smoothly, happy to be feeling somewhat normal again. "I was hoping to help you forget all about them." He leaned in closer as Hilda looked up at him from under her fringe, and he was about to claim the first female comfort he had had in almost longer than he could remember, when the door to the office opened suddenly and nearly threw him off balance and onto the floor.

"Ah, Colonel Hogan, I was hoping you would come by this morning. Please, come in." Eichberger's voice sounded far more cheerful than Hogan felt, now deprived of the pleasures of Hilda. She shrugged innocently and returned to her typewriter as Hogan sighed and pulled himself away from the desk and into the inner office.

"Your timing stinks," Hogan complained, as Eichberger closed the door behind him and went around his desk to sit down.

"Well, how was I to know you were in... cahoots... with my secretary?"

"Are you kidding?" Hogan asked. "You're in a prison camp, Eichberger. Anything in a skirt is fair game. Kraut secretary or not." He crossed his arms. "I hear you've been having words with Major Hochstetter."

"Ah, yes," Eichberger said, clearing his throat. "I don't mind telling you that he's been making my life rather miserable for the last few weeks. He wants to have words with _you_, Colonel Hogan. Badly."

"He wants more than words, and I'm not about to let him do that. Are you?"

Eichberger shook his head. "I promised you that would not happen, Colonel. And it will not. He is applying as much pressure as he can, but I am getting the support of General Burkhalter, and that is helping."

"Burkhalter's backing you up?" Hogan asked, surprised.

"He does not want this camp's routine disturbed, Colonel. I have convinced him that I am a by-the-book, thorough man, whose only interest is in keeping you and the others in line. And that includes strict adherence to all camp rules, and even stricter disciplinary measures when necessary. That is why, of course, I had to keep you in the cooler for the full thirty days. It would have done my position no good for Burkhalter to find you wandering around the compound after only a week."

Hogan nodded. "It wouldn't have hurt _mine_ any."

Eichberger smiled briefly. "Actually, I daresay that being in the cooler gave you a chance to recover from your escapades, albeit it in a bit colder climate." Hogan did not appear convinced. Eichberger shrugged. "Ah well, we do what we must, yes? And I did. So now, Colonel Hogan, it is time to cause some more headaches for the Third Reich."

"What have you got this time?"

"This one will require a more delicate touch," Eichberger said. "A very important scientist, Klaus Schoendorfer, is coming to Stalag 13 on Friday on his way to a meeting with some of the brass in Berlin. He will need lodging overnight and is staying in camp. He is carrying with him plans for a special experimental rocket fuel. Now, the Nazis have tried this kind of thing before and failed. But this one is supposed to be just the ticket. And unlike the other geniuses, this man has it all written down."

Hogan knitted his brow. "Sounds too easy," he said.

"I haven't gotten to the delicate part yet. Schoendorfer isn't your friendly sort. He speaks to no one, and I mean no one. So finding out where the stuff is will be tricky."

"Why is it this regime attracts all the nuts? Where are you planning on putting him?"

"I was considering the VIP hut." Eichberger paused. "If that's convenient for you."

"What would be convenient is Schoendorfer deciding that he wants to defect and just handing the formula over voluntarily."

Eichberger shook his head, amused. "You constantly amaze me, Colonel. I understand now how you have survived in this war so long."

"You mean it isn't my charm and good looks?" Hogan quipped, not yet at ease.

Eichberger laughed out loud. "Hogan! You are a wonder. So the VIP hut is acceptable."

"It's fine. And don't worry; I'll make sure he's handled delicately."

"Schoendorfer has to remain in the German system, Hogan. His disappearance would cause such an uproar as to bring all of the Third Reich down on us. And at the moment we cannot afford that."

Hogan sighed. "So we don't dispose of him, we just steal the plans."

"Dispose of...Colonel Hogan, were you considering assassinating him?"

"If we had to, but obviously it appears we can't. I can't think of any other way that a dead rocket fuel stays dead." He mused for a moment. "We'll just have to make sure the Allies get enough information to be able to discredit it or find a way to counter it."

"You think so far ahead, Colonel, it is hard to keep up."

"If I don't think so far ahead, I could be dead."

"How are we going to handle it?"

"There won't be a 'we' this time, Eichberger. Leave this one to me."

"You and your men will do this?"

Hogan hesitated. He was going to need someone else with him, but he was still reluctant to expose anyone else to Eichberger. "I'm going to need some help. Some of the people I use won't even be aware that they are doing anything out of the ordinary. I'll keep you posted."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Where else do we have contacts?" Kinch wracked his brain trying to think of other ways to get more information on Eichberger.

Hogan sighed again, one in a collection that he noticed was starting to wear him down. Maybe he should just close up shop and get out anyway; he could use the rest. "Everywhere. But no one seems to know about our mystery man. We're going to have to piece it together ourselves."

"That is a dangerous undertaking, Colonel," Le Beau observed.

"No more dangerous than anything we're doing now," Hogan replied. He took a deep breath to collect himself. "Let's go through what we have as absolute fact so far: Black Forest is dispatched from London fourteen months ago to infiltrate the Abwehr and work with any agents we have there. Seven months ago, he disappears without a trace. London worries that he's been found out and killed. They wait for the fallout in case he talked before he was executed, but nothing happens. About a month later, Eichberger shows up in the Luftwaffe, fresh with a transfer from the Abwehr, looking to work his way up the ladder, and when the opportunity arises, he wheedles his way into Stalag 13, where he reveals himself to me and starts taking an active role in sabotage missions. He's awkward, but he seems sincere, and so far, he's kept his promises to keep the Gestapo—and Burkhalter—at bay." Hogan ran his hands over his face to give himself time to think before concluding, "I'm worrying over nothing. It all sounds perfectly logical." He looked down at his cup of coffee, quickly going cold before him on the table. "Sorry, fellas. My judgment's been all off-balance lately. I just can't seem to get back in the rhythm of it. Maybe it's time I hand over."

Concerned looks spread over his men's faces. "What?" Newkirk blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Not a chance," Carter added.

"You're just feeling out of sorts after everything that's happened," Kinch declared. "That's normal, Colonel. It doesn't mean you're supposed to step down."

"_Oui_, Kinch is right," Le Beau agreed. "The operation is not worth running without you back in command, Colonel."

Hogan rubbed his forehead slowly, closing his eyes to try and blot out the current and remembered images playing before him. Finally, he stopped and put on a wry smile. "I must be the only guy in the world whose retirement is dictated by his employees."

Le Beau exhaled in relief. "Let's get back to work," he suggested.

Hogan nodded and shook himself out of his mood. _There have been too many moods lately_. "Okay. We have this Schoendorfer to worry about. There's not going to be a chance to build any rapport with him. The best we can hope for is to distract him long enough to go rifling through his things and see if we can find the formula. Eichberger's agreed to organize a nice dinner for _Herr_ Schoendorfer in his quarters, which means the VIP hut will be vacant for awhile. Kinch, I want you and Carter to sneak in there while I'm wining and dining Mr. Charm to see if you can find the papers. Le Beau..."

"_Oui_, I know. Kitchen duty."

"Absolutely. And Newkirk, you, too. I'm going to need you to pat him down in case he's carrying the documents on him instead of leaving them in his quarters."

"Right, Colonel."

"Meanwhile, Kinch, see if you can't raise the Underground. We need to get Klink out of here, and London's not being helpful at all." Hogan thought of the Kommandant, stuck for what seemed like forever in an underground world he did not understand. "This is dragging out for him, and believe it or not I actually feel a bit sorry for him."

Carter nodded. "It must be scary for him. He doesn't know how he's gonna be treated, no matter what we say to make him feel better."

"We _did_ whisk him away from his own world pretty quick," Kinch admitted.

"If we hadn't, he'd have been in another world anyway; I have no doubt about that," Hogan said. "Hochstetter wouldn't have taken the time to interrogate Klink before convincing a jury to find him guilty of treason." Hogan paused as his own "interrogation", ever-present in the recesses of his mind, came hurtling to the fore. He felt his stomach bottom out in that sickening way it did often now, and he was sure he had paled visibly.

The others couldn't help but notice the change in their commanding officer, but they could think of nothing reassuring to say. Wilson had warned them that Hogan's psyche would have been badly damaged by his experiences—the belief that he was going to die, the torturous lead-up to it that would have left him no hope of reprieve—and that only time would heal some of the more superficial mental wounds. Some of the more serious psychological injuries would never leave him, and over the coming months and years, he would have to find ways to cope with them. But for now, they simply left Hogan paralyzed, speechless, and his men could only watch, and hope for him, and try to support him in his pain.

"Well, then, he's lucky he found us then, isn't he?" Newkirk quipped, trying to lighten the mood in the room. Hogan looked at him gratefully. "I mean, not every prisoner has three meals a day served to him by people promising fine treatment _and_ an all-expenses paid trip to London!"

"Via the scenic, underground route," Kinch added.

Hogan nodded, desperate to latch onto the forced change in atmosphere.

"He is a lucky man," Le Beau said. "I wish we could _all_ head to London."

"We will, Louis," Carter said. "As soon as the war is over."

All that was left then was to dream of when that would be.


	37. A Hero is Made

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others, and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Well, _Herr_ Schoendorfer, I'm sure you will enjoy the wine and the company here this evening," Hogan said heartily, trying to get the older man's attention. Schoendorfer looked at the bottle held aloft in Newkirk's hand, and at Hilda, dressed in a pretty but simple dress, and shook his head. Hogan shrugged at Hilda's almost hurt look, and she turned to sit down on the sofa.

Newkirk raised his eyebrows at Hogan. "Now what?" he muttered under his breath.

"Food. Maybe food. Tell Louis to get moving on the meal. We have to find something that interests him." Hogan smiled broadly as Newkirk moved away. "_Herr_ Schoendorfer, even a man of your intellect must have something that brings him pleasure. Now what might that be?" Hogan wondered, steering himself toward the scientist, who had turned away and was looking at a portrait of Hitler on the wall. "Ah, the Fuhrer. Well, I imagine he is a great inspiration for you," Hogan continued. "I must admit he doesn't do much for me. But he does seem to inspire others—like Churchill and Patton and Eisenhower!" Hogan laughed, and even Eichberger lifted the edges of his lips in a smile. But Schoendorfer stayed unaffected.

Hogan heaved a sigh. "Oh, boy!" he said softly. "Tough room." He turned to Eichberger. "How about some music, Kommandant?" he suggested.

Eichberger immediately came to his side. "A splendid idea, Hogan. Nothing like music to lend a lovely ambience to any setting."

Hogan rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Overacting was something he didn't need. He met Eichberger over at the radio, while Schoendorfer seemed oblivious to the fuss being paid to him. "Careful, Eichberger," Hogan cautioned him. "Ham isn't one of my favorite meals."

Eichberger gave a brief nod and turned on the radio. The strains of "Lili Marleen" met their ears. Hogan frowned momentarily, then put his hand out to turn off the noise as the unexpected voice of Axis Sally penetrated the room, starting to announce the names of Allied soldiers most recently taken prisoner by the enemy in Italy. "How did we end up with _this_?" Hogan asked acidly. He hadn't been aware of Klink ever listening to propaganda broadcasts; Eichberger must have doctored the radio to be able to tune into this higher frequency, with broadcasts intended to wear down the Allied forces. Why he wanted to do this was a mystery Hogan refused to contemplate.

But as he started to turn the knob, he was surprised by a hand over his, stopping him. It was Schoendorfer, who stood, fascinated, listening. As Sally's smooth, calming voice filled the room, Hogan watched Schoendorfer smile. Hogan looked at Hilda and raised an eyebrow. She nodded and sidled up to the scientist, offering her arm and guiding him over to the sofa to listen. He accepted the gesture and moved with her, never taking his eyes off the radio.

"Surely he's seen a radio before?" Hogan said softly. Eichberger nodded. "Must be Axis Sally he likes."

Eichberger shrugged his ignorance of the matter. "Whatever it is, I think you have your insurance policy to keep him here." He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was six forty-five. "This garbage stays on till seven thirty."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter very slowly and quietly moved the plank that covered the tunnel leading into the VIP hut. The room was dark and, he was satisfied after a moment of listening, empty. He pulled himself up and into the room, then turned back and drew in the flashlights being held up for him to take. Finally, he helped Kinch climb in, and the two got to work.

"What are we looking for?" Carter whispered as the pair started rifling through the things Schoendorfer had brought with him to camp.

"Rocket fuel plans, Carter. You know—scientific formulas, numbers, letters, stuff like that?"

Carter grinned in the darkness. "I know that bit," he said. "I mean, what will it be in?"

Kinch shrugged. "Could be anything. But it's written down, so it's gotta be somewhere."

"I hope the Colonel can manage to keep Schoendorfer away from here long enough for us to look. I mean he didn't seem like much of a party guy—did you see him when he came in?"

"Carter—concentrate on looking. We can work on his social skills _after_ we track down his formula for the fuel."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"You dance very nicely, _Herr_ Schoendorfer," Hilda said encouragingly, as Bruno and the Swinging Tigers played "Tomorrow is Another Day." In truth, his moves were rather awkward, and Hilda felt herself being jerked around the room, but she had promised to do her best to keep the scientist happy—however it was he expressed that emotion—and so she determinedly kept up with his anything but fancy footwork. "How do you find time for it with your important work?"

The scientist didn't answer her, but smiled vaguely and tried to awkwardly twirl her around. As Newkirk passed by with an arrangement of flowers to place on the dinner table, Schoendorfer backed into him and nearly dropped Hilda, as Newkirk nearly dropped the vase. What followed was an almost frantic and confused ten seconds of apologies by Newkirk and a steadying of footing, ending in Hilda smiling a thank you to the British Corporal for getting her out of this terrible pairing.

Hogan drew up next to Newkirk as he placed the flowers on the table. "The papers aren't on him, sir," Newkirk said under his breath. "I just had a good feel for them. They must be in his quarters."

"Good work. Have Le Beau bring dinner out, then get word to Carter and Kinch. Now it's all up to them."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan was waiting for Kinch and Carter as they came back through the tunnel to the area under Barracks Two. Anxiously, he looked for any evidence of success, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a smile on Kinch's face. "Mission accomplished, Colonel," he said. "It took awhile but we found the formula. Carter got a lot of photos of it."

"Good work. Get to work developing them right away. We'll get them to the Underground and they'll get them out to London."

"Right away, Colonel," Carter said.

"I tell you what, Kinch," Hogan said, as Carter zipped ahead of them toward the dark room. "I'd almost have rather spent the night with Klink. Schoendorfer had the personality of a piece of cardboard."

Kinch laughed lightly. "That exciting, huh?"

"And his dancing is abominable. I'm going to owe Hilda a lot more than a pair of nylons tomorrow. Her feet won't be in any condition to step into them."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan spread a now-rare, genuine smile across his face as he examined the negatives of the film Carter and Kinch had brought back from Schoendorfer's quarters. "This is beautiful, fellas, just beautiful," he said. "London's gonna have to be pleased with these. You did a great job."

"They're ecstatic, Colonel," Kinch said, coming up beside him. "They said to pass on the message, 'Capital, old boy, simply capital.'"

Hogan shook his head once, always amused by the way Allied High Command showed its approval. "That's more than I could have hoped for," he quipped. He pulled the negatives down and handed them to Carter. "Get these ready to go. Kinch, what's the Underground say? Can they take Klink and the prints at the same time?"

Kinch shook his head. "No go, sir. They can take the photos but they say the network is still uncomfortable taking someone like Klink."

"They've taken bigger fish than him before!"

"They didn't have the Gestapo hanging around the area before."

"I thought they'd pulled out," Hogan said.

"They have, mostly. But they said they won't take a chance on Klink yet. They'll take the negatives, but not the man."

Hogan's temper, now quicker to flare than before Hochstetter's visit, and already simmering from the lack of help on London's part in this matter, came to a boil again. His eyes flashing, and his voice shaking slightly, Hogan burst, "What do I have to do to get a little _cooperation_ around here?" And, tugging at the bottom of his jacket angrily, he disappeared down the tunnel, leaving the others to quietly watch his retreat.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Klink looked up with surprise as Hogan walked stiffly down the tunnel, grabbed a chair roughly, and sat down, putting his elbows on his knees and his forehead down to his fists. Even without hearing any of the conversation that had transpired just before Hogan appeared, Klink could tell that the American was extremely agitated. In fact, he had rarely seen Hogan this upset, and was at a bit of a loss as to how to react. Finally, he decided just to plunge in, no matter how badly worded the attempt.

"Is something wrong, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan sat up at once and crossed his arms. "No," he said shortly, not trying to sound convincing. "No, nothing's wrong." He looked away, obviously still seething.

Klink put down the book he had been reading and tried to look Hogan in the eye. "With all due respect, Hogan, you are a terrible liar."

Hogan smirked at the irony in Klink's words. _Oh, I don't know about that_, he thought. But he remained silent as his mind returned to other things.

"Hogan," Klink started again hesitantly, "I may not be the person you want to confide in, but at least I am an officer. If something is troubling you that you cannot talk about with your men..."

"Why would my troubles interest you?" Hogan asked.

"We are trying to be friends, are we not?" Klink reminded him. Hogan nodded briefly. "And I understand that the burden of command can be heavy at times, even if you are running circles around the enemy."

Hogan noted the edge in Klink's voice and chided himself for not paying more attention to the Kommandant after his rescue from the cooler. True, there really hadn't been time for coddling, but Hogan felt he at least owed Klink something for all the trouble Hogan and his men had caused in the name of the Allies. And in the name of decency, to thank Klink for the chance he had taken in trying to keep Hogan from meeting an untimely end. "You don't know the half of it," Hogan said before he could stop himself. Then he added, "Actually, Colonel Klink, it's you who's giving me the trouble."

"Me?" Klink asked.

"Yeah. I can't seem to find anyone willing to take a chance on you." Hogan sighed. "London seems to be too busy to send anyone around to get you out, and the Underground is still too wary of the Gestapo to lead you out themselves. I may have to do the job myself. And that wasn't part of the plan."

"_You_ would get me out of Germany?" Klink said.

Hogan shrugged. "I've gone out before."

"You've left _Germany_? Since you've been a prisoner here?" Klink wondered.

"More than once," Hogan answered. "And it looks like I'm going to have to do it again. Every minute you're in this tunnel is a minute more that countless agents are in danger. If the authorities are still looking for you, and they even _suspect_ that we know what's locked up inside your head, they could call up that list and pull everyone on it before we have a chance to warn them, just to prove a point. And then we'd lose God knows how many good people." He paused, thinking. "You've got to go soon. I just wish I could figure out how."

Klink stayed silent, still unable to fathom his importance in this whole mess called World War Two. Especially after people like Burkhalter and Hochstetter had always made a point of drilling into him just how _un_important he was. At least Schultz had always, at least outwardly, seemed to consider Klink important. Which brought another thought into Klink's mind. How much did the guard actually know, that Klink himself had never guessed? "Hogan, how much does Sergeant Schultz know about all of this?"

Hogan took a moment before responding. He hadn't really given the guard much thought lately, other than making sure everything in camp ran smoothly, and making sure Schultz didn't suspect that Eichberger might be working with Hogan in some sabotage missions. "Schultz knows nothing," Hogan said, not anxious to spill the Sergeant's secrets.

"Hogan, I heard one of your men telling Schultz that he always knew more than he let on to. And I know the Sergeant actually saw one of your men come out of the tunnel and into the barracks. How can he know nothing?" Klink persisted.

"We don't tell him any more than we have to," Hogan replied. He noticed a sharpness creeping into his voice. _Don't get riled up. You're just worried...and tired. God, you're so tired._ "Schultz just has selective blindness once in awhile."

Klink snorted. "He must have a very wide selection," he said with some sarcasm. If he could ignore a big thing like a man coming out of a tunnel in the barracks, Klink could only imagine the myriad small things that the guard had chosen not to see.

"He has good reason," Hogan answered. "But those secrets aren't mine to tell." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you need to take with you?"

Klink considered all he had left behind. In his unexpected unseating, and his even more unexpected removal from the world above ground, Klink had had a lot of time to think about what he would miss, what he would not, and what he would savor and regret. So Hogan's question was easy to answer. "I have some special decorations that were in a locked drawer in my office from the last war. I would like to take them. And an address book that can keep me in touch with the people I hold most dear. Everything else is unimportant."

Hogan nodded. "You'll get them. Then I'll figure out how to get you out of here. I'm sorry I haven't been more helpful while you've been down here. There's just an awful lot I have to organize at the moment, and it hasn't been easy. I hope you're not claustrophobic."

Klink smiled briefly. "No, Hogan, anything but. Closed in places make me feel quite safe. And your men have been kind. I understand you have been preoccupied."

"You're very accommodating for a man whose whole life has been turned upside down."

"It appears we are, as you say, in the same boat, Hogan. Things are not quite the same for you either, are they?" Klink shook his head. "No, Hogan. I am almost content. Perhaps I am just happy that the war, at least for me, is over. Or it will be, when your Allied leaders are done with me. Certainly there are still things that bother me, even that make me angry. But what is the point of holding onto that now?" he asked, shrugging. "I will have many years to contemplate my obviously many oversights. History will judge me a fool."

"Or a hero," Hogan countered. Klink said nothing, but looked at him questioningly. "What you risked for me, Kommandant, was just as heroic as anything my men or I have done." Hogan stood up. "I'll get you out of here soon; I'll just have to organize the route and take you myself." Hogan started to turn away, rubbing his eyes, but he stopped and said, "Sorry if I seemed abrupt when I first came down here tonight. I'm just tired, and the Underground's uncooperativeness didn't help. But we'll get around it. And I'll make sure we get those things you wanted."

Hogan bade him good night, and Klink nodded wordlessly, still marveling at how Hogan always seemed to be able to turn himself around even in the face of hopelessness. He watched as Hogan walked, much more relaxed than the way he had arrived, back down toward his men. _He is determined. And he is incredibly strong, despite the fear he tries so hard to hide from his men. He really is a true hero,_ Klink thought. And it was only then that Klink began to accept what Hogan had said—that Klink himself was a hero, something he had never honestly thought he could be.


	38. Doing the Rounds

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel Hogan, I have thought about what you said."

Hogan was surprised a couple of days later after roll call by Sergeant Schultz. He turned and squinted in the early rising sun. "What did I say, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

Schultz watched Hogan's men filter away before answering. "You said I should think about whether I want to know where you were and where the Kommandant is."

"Oh, that," Hogan said, trying to sound offhand. "So, what do you think, Schultz?"

"I think I do not want to know."

"That's a very sensible decision, Schultz," Hogan answered. "The less anyone knows, especially you, the better for everyone involved."

"I do not want to know where he is, but I _do_ want to know if he is safe."

Hogan rubbed the space between his eyes, then ran his hand across his face. Despite his decreasing doubt about Eichberger, he was still close-mouthed about Klink to the Captain. And telling Schultz anything that the Sergeant might spill in an unguarded moment was a chance Hogan didn't like taking. But no harm could possibly come from him telling Schultz that Klink was out of harm's way, could it? "It's okay, Schultz. He's safe."

"When did you last see him?"

"_Schultz_," Hogan said strongly, "you may not want to know some of this."

"I don't, Colonel Hogan, I don't. But the Kommandant was my commanding officer for a long time, and I worry about him."

"I know," Hogan relented. "And he's asked about you, too."

"He _has_?" Schultz asked, obviously pleased. Hogan didn't want to tell him it was in connection with Schultz's knowledge of the prisoners' activities that the Sergeant's name came up. "Oh, that is so _nice_."

Hogan smiled without teeth. "Yeah, nice," he agreed, non-committal. "Look, Schultz, don't tell anyone else about this, will you?"

Schultz smiled sagely and put a finger to his lips. "I know nothing, Colonel Hogan. Nothing!"

"I was hoping you'd say that," Hogan replied. "Now make sure you keep it that way."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Schultz approached Sergeant Carter, who was busy doing laundry outside the barracks, humming happily as he scrubbed and then hung the clothes on the makeshift clothesline strung up between buildings. "Laundry day, Carter?" observed the guard.

"Sure is, Schultz. You know, with Colonel Hogan back there's more than ever. Officers like their clothes done just so. Not too much starch, extra crisp collars—you know the routine," Carter replied.

"I leave all of that to my wife," Schultz said. "I could never do laundry. I could only do toys."

"Oh, yeah, that's right—you told us you had a toy company before the war, didn't you? Here hold this." Carter handed a dripping shirt to the German, who fumbled to hold it properly before finally giving up and leaning his rifle up against the building so he could stop from getting himself completely soaked. Carter put the wooden wash bucket he had been using on the ground and replaced it with another that he had waiting, filled with clean water. He took the shirt back from Schultz and plunged it into the new bucket. "Thanks, Schultz."

"_Ja_._ Ja_, I bring my own laundry back home whenever I get there. I don't think I would have survived as a prisoner of war myself," Schultz admitted, watching Carter warily in case he asked the guard to do more washing duties.

"I was always domesticated," Carter said cheerfully. "I like doing this kind of work. It gives me time to think, you know?"

"I do not want time to think," Schultz responded. "I would rather forget everything at the moment."

Carter paused to look directly at the guard. "Been pretty tough, huh?"

Schultz nodded. "Colonel Hogan says the Kommandant is safe. But I worry about him. And I worry about Captain Eichberger, because I do not trust him—you will not tell anyone that, will you, Carter?" Carter shook his head. "He seems nice but I just don't like him. Maybe because I miss Kommandant Klink. And I worry about you boys. And Colonel Hogan. He is not the same as he was before."

Carter shook his head again. "Don't worry about us, Schultz. And don't worry about Colonel Hogan; he might be a little different now, but we're working on him." He paused. "How would you feel if you couldn't go home again, Schultz?"

Schultz looked surprised at the question. "Couldn't go home?" he asked.

"Yeah. I mean, Colonel Klink isn't here, and he hasn't been seen around here. I wonder what it's like for him... wherever he is."

Schultz nodded understanding. "Oh. _Ja_. It would be very frightening. But he would be strong, I think. He could survive where he had to. Me? I would want to go home. I do not always get along with my wife, you know," Schultz said, knowing full well that the men had witnessed some rather strong encounters between himself and his wife. "But I would still need to be there, for her and for my _kinder_. Someone would need to be here to look after them. It would be too frightening for some of my littlest ones if I was not here, Carter. You know I already do not have my brother here." He got a sudden look of fear on his face. "You are not thinking of sending me to England with Ludwig!" he whispered fiercely.

"No, Schultz. Just curious," Carter answered, wringing out a shirt and hanging it on the line.

"Oh," Schultz said, relaxing and almost laughing. "You had me worried. I almost thought you were going to tell me that Colonel Klink was in your tunnel...and that I had to go down there with him!"

"I would never tell you that, Schultz," Carter said.

Schultz kept smiling as he turned to continue his rounds. "Sergeant Carter, you are a good boy. And I will not worry about you any more. But, Carter, please work on Colonel Hogan. I miss hearing him laugh. Even for an enemy, it is sad to see a man so changed."

"We will, Schultz." Carter watched thoughtfully as the guard started to walk away. "Oh, Schultz!" he called suddenly.

Schultz turned back to the American. "_Ja_?" he replied.

Grinning sheepishly, Carter said, "You forgot to take your rifle."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"It'll be a relief when we can finally tell people what we did here," Newkirk was saying later that afternoon, as he and Le Beau and Kinch relaxed for a few minutes in the sun bearing down on the camp. It wasn't terribly warm, but any sunshine was a welcome diversion, since as of late they felt like they were spending all their time underground.

"Yeah. Right now my letters home sound pretty boring," Kinch admitted. "It's always so tempting to give my family _some_ kind of inkling that I'm actually still fighting."

"I am just glad that I do not have any children yet," Le Beau put in. "They would think all their daddy did is stay in the kitchen! 'What did you do in the war, Papa?' '_Oh_, _ma petite_, _j'ai cuisiné pour les boches_.'"

"Well, one day it'll be different, mate," Newkirk predicted. "Then you can tell your kids you blew things up for them, too."

"Look out, here comes Schultz," Kinch warned.

The group started breaking up as the guard approached. "Out and about a bit today, eh, Schultzie?" Newkirk said.

Schultz sighed as he stopped beside the prisoners. "I am always on my rounds, Englander. You know that I have my work to do."

"What kind of work do you have to do today, Schultz?" asked Le Beau.

"The Kommandant wants me to inspect all the barracks and make sure that everything is in order. We are having company in the next day or two and he wants everything to be perfect. And that means no monkey business," he added, with as serious a look at his charges as he could muster.

"Visitors, Schultz?" Kinch probed. "Who's coming?"

"That I do not know. What I _do_ know, is that if anything is out of place, Captain Eichberger has said it will be _my_ responsibility. So _you_ are going to _raus_, and make sure that your quarters are neat and tidy."

"Yeah, we'll get to it, Schultz," Newkirk said with a stretch.

"Yes," Schultz added. "You will get to it _now_! Come on now," he ordered, his voice suddenly turning him back into a guard. "_Schnell_!"

"Aw, Schultzie, when did you turn into a Kraut, anyway?" protested Newkirk, as the others grumbled along with him. Still, he pulled away from the wall and headed inside the barracks, to make sure everything they didn't want visitors to see was hidden from view.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Sergeant Schultz, is everything in order?" Eichberger asked.

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ Captain. The barracks are in perfect condition, and the camp is looking quite spiffy, if I may say so," Schultz added, with a touch of pride.

"Very good. Go get Colonel Hogan for me; I want to tell him that some old friends are coming to town." He dismissed the Sergeant and followed him out the door. Schultz couldn't help but shudder when he heard Eichberger's order to Hilda: "Hilda, please get Major Hochstetter and General Burkhalter on the phone and tell them that I will be glad to have them in camp first thing in the morning."


	39. Confronting the Past

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan walked back to Barracks Two, shivering both from the cold of the evening and from the news that Eichberger had delivered. Hochstetter coming to camp tomorrow? Eichberger's reasoning had been solid enough; there was only so long he could hold back the Gestapo Major from doing an inspection. If he delayed any longer, it would look suspicious. And Burkhalter was coming because as a Luftwaffe General he wanted to keep an eye on what Hochstetter was doing. Hogan was not sure whether he should take comfort in that or not. But he was starting to feel distinctly uneasy about the prospect of facing either man again.

_Better to do it now and get it over with_, he considered, as he entered the barracks. Watchful eyes looked expectantly at him, waiting to hear what news Eichberger had delivered. Hogan pasted on a nonchalant smile and made the announcement: "Hochstetter and Burkhalter are coming for a visit tomorrow." Was he mistaken, or had he detected a slight waver in his voice? _Steady, boy_.

Le Beau was on his feet instantly. "They will not take you again, Colonel! I will lay down my life—"

Hogan held up a hand. "Easy, _easy_, Le Beau," he said. Le Beau stopped. "I appreciate the gesture. But Eichberger says they're just coming here on inspection. A lot has happened here, and they want to make sure I've been put in my place." He grimaced at the words, but accepted their necessity.

Newkirk spoke up. "I don't like it, sir."

"Neither do I," Hogan agreed. "But I wasn't likely to be able to go the duration of the war without seeing either of them again. And if Eichberger was planning anything, he wouldn't have made the mistake of warning me the way Klink did. This time I'd be completely unaware, especially since he could have had his pick of times in the last few weeks to just pluck me—or any of us—out of here." Hogan sighed. "No, this is just something I need to face. And better now than later."

"What do you want us to do, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"Nothing. And I mean _nothing_. As long as they're in camp I don't want any activity at all. You're just ordinary prisoners of war. See if you can't fake that for a day, could you?"

Hogan's men grinned. "That's quite an acting job you're asking for," Kinch declared.

"It should be a breeze for Hogan's Traveling Troupe. Just don't travel outside of Stalag 13 for a bit, okay?"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

A knock on the office door interrupted Eichberger as he was making his guests comfortable with an offer of a drink or a cigar. "Come!" he called, as Hochstetter made little show of hiding his disapproval of either offering.

The door opened and Hogan took a confident step inside. "You wanted to see me, Captain?" he asked politely, refusing to look at either Hochstetter or Burkhalter.

"Actually,_ I_ wanted to see you, Hogan," Burkhalter said.

Hogan turned with effort and nodded in the General's direction. "Good afternoon, General," Hogan said. He felt his stomach twist into a knot. _Easy, man. Take it easy_.

"I just wanted to see you for myself. After all, the last time I saw you, you were not in a state to have visitors," Burkhalter said.

Hogan fought the thrill of panic running through him. He couldn't remember seeing Burkhalter at all while he was in Hochstetter's hands. The lack of control frightened him. _Steady, now; we're just talking_. "So I'm told," was all he said.

"It was of great interest to everyone how you managed to escape from solitary confinement," Burkhalter continued.

Hogan swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hochstetter moving in. Involuntarily, he tensed.

The Major noticed. "Yes, Hogan, I was very curious myself about how you escaped from a locked cell." He came closer. Hogan looked straight ahead. "Obviously, you had help. I suspect the came from your beloved Kommandant Klink. But as you can see, he is not here, either."

Hogan remained silent, a small bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.

"Would you care to enlighten us, Colonel?" Hochstetter persisted.

Hogan turned to Eichberger, stone-faced. "Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, US Army Air Corps. Serial number 0876707."

Eichberger laughed loudly as Hochstetter balled his fists in frustration. "You see, gentlemen? It is exactly as I told you: you will not get a single word out of Colonel Hogan that he does not want you to know, so you might as well give up."

Hogan took a second to try and look Eichberger in the eye. But the Captain was quite clearly enjoying the advantage he had over the others, and was not paying attention to his senior POW. Hogan turned back to Burkhalter. "So what brings you to our little corner of paradise today, General?" he asked, continuing to pay as little attention as possible—at least on the surface—to Hochstetter.

"We were invited here to take a look around, Hogan. To inspect the camp and see how well things are running under the supervision of Captain Eichberger," Burkhalter replied. "I am pleased to note so far that everything seems to be going well."

Hogan noted the word: _invited_. "Nice of you to drop by," he said coldly. He turned to Eichberger. "May I go now?"

"Please prepare your men for inspection, Colonel," Eichberger said formally. "We will be over momentarily." Eichberger smiled. "We may even have a roll call. So don't go escaping on me between now and then, will you?"

Hogan nodded stiffly and offered Eichberger a salute. Then without looking at the others, he turned on his heel and quickly left the office. He was about a quarter of the way across the compound when he succumbed to the trembling and sank down on one knee.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"The Colonel!" Le Beau cried, peering out the door of the barracks. From where he was standing, the Colonel had just virtually collapsed in the middle of camp. He immediately opened the door to run out.

"Wait!" Newkirk ordered, firmly stopping the door from opening wide enough to let Louis out. He looked outside to judge for himself. Hogan wiped his face with the back of his hand, then drew himself up to his feet and continued heading toward Barracks Two. "He's just pulling himself together. Give him some space," Newkirk concluded.

Le Beau agreed reluctantly and moved to the stove to prepare a hot cup of coffee for Hogan. At least that might help steady the Frenchman's own nerves. He couldn't stand the inability to take action for long.

Hogan appeared a minute later, looking a shade paler than normal but putting on a calm face. "They just wanted a bit of a show," Hogan said. "Probably roll call in a couple of minutes. Get Kinch upstairs; they'll be on their way soon."

Carter nodded and headed for the tunnel. Le Beau pushed a cup of steaming coffee into Hogan's hand. Hogan nodded his thanks and gratefully sat down at the table. "What's going on, Colonel?" Newkirk asked.

"Burkhalter says he and Hochstetter were _invited_ to camp," Hogan said, disturbed to find his voice still carried a slight tremor.

Newkirk gave a start. "Invited?" he exclaimed. "You mean that bloody Kraut _asked_ that pair to come here?"

"That sounds pretty suspicious, Colonel," Kinch said, as he followed Carter back up into the room.

"Well, I'll give Eichberger one thing: it was great to watch someone get the better of Hochstetter. He laughed right in his face."

Carter grinned. "Well, he can't be all bad, then, can he?"

"They are all bad," Le Beau muttered.

Footsteps outside brought Hogan to his feet. He looked over to make sure the tunnel entrance was closed, then he nodded and Carter opened the door. Schultz appeared. "Roll call," he said smartly. "Everybody out for roll call."

Hogan sighed. "We're coming, Schultz; we're coming."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What made you think I'd feel like being paraded in front of _those_ two maniacs?" Hogan asked Eichberger that evening, exasperated. "You told me they insisted on coming—Burkhalter says you _invited_ them!"

Eichberger waved a hand dismissively. "Burkhalter—he is just as big a fool as Hochstetter. He rang to ask about the progress of the camp under my care. I casually mentioned that he had not seen it in some time, and he latched onto it as a personal invitation. I did not want him here. And I certainly could have lived without seeing Major Hochstetter myself."

Hogan relaxed, just a little. "Well, it _was _a lovely shade of red he turned when you laughed at him," he admitted. "I think I needed that."

"I think you did, too," Eichberger said. "Now that you have faced your demons, you can move on."

Hogan nodded. There was sense in what Eichberger said. And much as he hated to admit it, he knew that if he had never seen Burkhalter and Hochstetter again, he would have wondered if he ever could have stood in their presence without fear. Now he knew the answer: he could stand in their presence. But there would always be fear.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"News from the Underground, Colonel," Kinch said as he hopped up from the tunnel a couple of days later.

Hogan felt his stomach tighten again. "And?"

"And they're willing to accept the route you've picked to take Klink out. But not for another couple of weeks."

Hogan nodded, waiting for the knots to loosen; they did, but only slightly, and very reluctantly. "Why the delay?"

"They say they want to put a few other people in place to help," Kinch said. Then he added, "I think they feel guilty for dumping out on you before now. This time they want to make it just right."

Hogan nodded and allowed himself a small smile. "Great. Looking forward to seeing some of them again. I just wish it could be under better circumstances." He stood up. "I'd better tell Klink what's coming up. And we're going to have to get into his belongings; there are a couple of things I promised him I'd get."


	40. Big Business

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"And once we're out of there, it's straight to London."

Hogan sat back in the chair, allowing Klink to examine more closely the small map the American had drawn for him. So this was how Klink was going to finish off his part in the war—running from one house to another, hiding out in tunnels, caves, and barns, until he was finally picked up by a group that could hold him until the Allies came for him. "Are you sure this will work?" Klink asked.

Hogan nodded, rubbing his eyes. "That's the plan," he answered. "London says they'll get a sub out there for you within a day."

Klink said, "It seems to be the first time they have listened to you, Hogan."

Hogan nodded, unhappy to admit that Klink was right, but knowing it was true. "Sometimes the people behind the big desks forget that it's the little guys who are taking all the chances. I'm just glad they finally came around."

"What will become of you after the war, Hogan? Will you go back to civilian life?" Klink asked suddenly.

Hogan considered only briefly. It was a topic that had often tickled the corner of his mind, but one that he chose not to contemplate. If it was never going to happen, he did not want to hope. "I don't know," he said simply. "Can you go back to what you were before a war?"

"Before this war, Hogan, I would have said yes," Klink answered. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"Neither am I." Hogan sighed. "Right now, I'm just looking to get past the next two weeks."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan smiled at Hilda and looked deeply into her eyes. "Go on, Hilda. Say it. You know the words I want to hear."

Hilda smiled back, thrilled with the full attention of the American. Enemy? Maybe. But what a way to commit treachery. His deep brown eyes shone brightly, and she sighed, a feeling of contentment washing over her. "The Kommandant will see you now," she said breathlessly, as his lips brushed her forehead.

Hogan let his smile get even more charming as he slid back off the desk. "You're an angel, you know that? An angel."

She lowered her head almost shyly. "And maybe you have a touch of the devil in you, Colonel Hogan," she said.

Hogan considered a couple of comebacks but thought them inappropriate to say, and turned, still grinning, toward the office. He knocked once and opened the door, then entered and sat down in front of Eichberger's desk. "Good morning," he said, relaxed after his little game in the antechamber.

Eichberger raised an eyebrow at Hogan's informality. "_Guten morgen_, Colonel Hogan," he replied. "You seem very cheerful today."

Hogan shrugged. "Must be the weather," he said, still carrying the scent of Hilda in his memory.

"Sleeping well?"

Hogan frowned. "Fine. Why?"

Eichberger smiled. "Because I'm hoping you'll want to interrupt your sleep next week for some more fun." Hogan let his eyes ask the question as thoughts of Hilda faded away and the stale aroma of old cigars invaded his senses. "How would you like to catch a traitor?" Hogan didn't react. "What's the matter, Hogan? Not up to the challenge?"

Hogan bit his tongue to stop himself from saying the first thing that came to mind. "What did you have in mind?"

"We've got wind of a British agent selling secrets to the Nazis."

"'We've?'" Hogan repeated.

"German Intelligence." Hogan listened but said nothing. "A Colonel John Abington has approached a couple of German officers, offering to pass on sensitive information like troop movements and whatnot. Apparently, he has access to some of the most delicate information available about war tactics in this area."

"And?"

"_And_ I think it would be fantastic if we could get him to unburden himself to someone who's not going to use the information to help the Germans get ahead. I think it would be a great coup if we could get him to confess to you instead."

"What makes you think he'll talk to a Prisoner of War?"

"He won't. But he'll talk to a German officer." Hogan tilted his head. "There's a dinner party next Friday night at a private home a couple of miles north of Hammelburg. A lot of German brass is expected to be there. You could blend in as one of them and round up Abington in one fell swoop."

"What will he be doing there?"

"Abington is expected to be sneaking in that night to try and set up a deal."

"And you want me to make that deal."

"Exactly. We need to capture him and have him sent back to England. You _can_ manage that, can't you, Hogan?" Eichberger asked. "I mean, all you have to do it pass him on to the local Underground and they can look after the rest, right?"

Hogan shook his head. "Too dangerous for them. I don't want them taking these kinds of chances with an unknown. I'll have some other people do it. They'll come out with me."

"Other people from the camp," Eichberger clarified. Hogan did not respond. "You know, you have never pointed out any of the others involved in your operation to me."

"Let's just say they prefer to remain anonymous," Hogan replied. "All you need to know is the jobs get done. Just don't have any unannounced roll calls that night." Eichberger wisely stayed silent. Hogan ran a hand along his chin. "It's risky," he said slowly. "But it's tempting. How do I get into this party?"

"I have been invited, as the local Kommandant. You will be an observer from Berlin, a Major Huber." Hogan raised an eyebrow. "I will make sure your papers are drawn up."

Hogan nodded. "I'll need a uniform."

"I will make sure you have one."

"And I'll need to get out of camp in it without being shot."

Eichberger smiled. "That will be arranged. I presume you will want to meet me."

Hogan nodded acknowledgement. "That's fine," he said, glad that Eichberger was starting to accept that Hogan would not tell him the location of his tunnels. "I'll get to work on my German," he said. _What he doesn't know won't hurt me._

Eichberger laughed. "I had nearly forgotten that!" he declared. "You can see I am still new at this sort of thing. I'll see that you have help. Speaking of which, do you think it was the local Underground that was responsible for the bridge that went up last night about three miles from here?" He lowered his voice. "Or were you and your men up to something that you didn't bother to tell me about?"

Hogan remained stoic. "I didn't know about it," he said. _You don't have to know quite everything._

Eichberger sighed deeply. "Colonel Hogan, when will you trust me?" he asked, sounding more than a little bothered by Hogan's lack of confidence in him.

"After this war, I doubt I'll trust anyone, ever." He stood up. "Get me a couple of German language books as soon as you can. I'm going to take a walk in the sun."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan asked Kinch and Newkirk to try again to find out if Morrison was back from his rest leave at Abwehr, and Kinch later reluctantly reported that he was not. Hogan tried to keep himself distracted from that by organizing another act of sabotage—this time a signal box on another line about five miles outside of camp. It was Hogan's plan to keep up the disruption of the German war effort, without necessarily telling Eichberger every move they made. No matter how friendly and helpful the man was, there were some things Hogan felt that were his alone, and one of them was the operation. If Eichberger wanted to help, he could certainly do so. But as long as he wore a German uniform and played the part so well, Hogan was not going to fully trust him with his men.

Hogan also had Kinch find out what he could from London about Colonel Abington. The answer was disheartening to them; he was indeed a very learned man in the way of Allied tactics, and he was in the area at the moment. Hogan crumpled up the paper on which Kinch had scribbled London's response, disappointed. Though he was glad to know that Eichberger was telling the truth, it bothered him that anyone could think of trading in secrets that held the lives of hundreds—thousands—of men, for personal gain.

Meanwhile, Hogan started making a plan of action. Once Eichberger gave him the exact location of the party, he start poring over maps, drawing up routes and then abandoning them; in short, trying to leave absolutely nothing to chance. "Here's the layout of the house," Hogan said to Kinch, pulling out a large, rolled-up document. "If I can get Abington out on the terrace here alone," he said, pointing, "one of you can grab him from behind, and we can get him out of there." Hogan scanned the paper, then ran his finger along another section. "There's a railroad track there, and a road that runs along it near the woods. If we can meet our contact there, we can get Abington through channels and back to England all in one night. Make sure our people know what's expected of them."

"Right, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Colonel," Newkirk piped up, "with all the waiting we'll be doing, a bit of underhanded activity comes to mind."

"From you?" Hogan asked, trying to sound surprised.

Newkirk smiled. "Well, I know it's unlike me to consider anything not aboveboard, sir, but... well, with the railroad line right there, sir, and a station just... there," he said, indicating another nearby spot on the map, "could we give that a good going over?"

Hogan nodded, considering. "Actually, Newkirk, that's a great idea," he agreed. "Let's see if we can't find out if anything is scheduled to run along the track that night—we might be able to avoid anyone looking for Abington if we can prove that he blew up with the track."

"You mean make it look like _he_ sabotaged the track, and botched the job so he went up with it?"

Hogan nodded. "That's right. A double double-cross. A British officer joins the Nazis so he can betray them. But it backfires, and he goes up with the blast."

"Why not?" Le Beau said, nodding.

"Okay, then it's a go. Carter, how would we go about destroying the track? Remember we need to consider timing as well as a possible train."

"Gee, that'd be easy, Colonel," Carter answered. "First you place plastic explosives around the track, set to go off when the wheels of the train first hit them. When they blow, you destroy the track and at the very least derail the entire train. But if we're lucky, we blow it all sky high." Warming to his subject, he continued. "But it really depends on the cargo. If it's carrying fuel or gunpowder, the whole thing would go ka-BOOM!"

Hogan involuntarily cringed as Carter imitated the explosion. "Sounds like you've got it all under control," he said, patting the Sergeant on the shoulder. "We'll go with whatever you think works best." He glanced at the others. "This is a big one. If Abington tells what he knows, a lot of our boys won't be getting home for the holidays."

Le Beau nodded. "While he goes merrily on."

"Exactly," Hogan said, rolling up the maps. "We have to get this right."


	41. Changes

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink held the small box with a slightly trembling hand. He didn't even think of opening it. "Thank you, Hogan," he said, softly.

Hogan nodded. "It's okay," he replied, also quiet.

"You know, these small things, Hogan, are all that a man has to depend on in difficult times," Klink said. "A few memories. A few names. That is all we are in the end."

"You're sounding rather morose, Kommandant," Hogan observed, not unkindly.

"I have been under the ground for...how long?... weeks," Klink replied. "And while your men have not been cruel, Hogan, you must admit it is not the same as being with your own people. And I was in command of a prison camp. A Colonel in the Luftwaffe reduced... to..." He did not finish, letting a tiny gesture of his hand taking in his surroundings finish for him.

Hogan understood. "It's not the same," he agreed. "Sort of like being in solitary for a month," he said.

Klink's eyes widened as he started to absorb the implications of what Hogan had said. Yes—he, Klink, had sentenced men to as much time away from the only life they knew in the prisons. No wonder Hogan had pushed so hard to get them out! "It was so easy to mete out punishment," he said ruefully. "Now I am being punished myself." He sat down, disheartened.

"It wasn't meant to be a punishment, Kommandant. It was meant to save your life."

Klink nodded listlessly. "I know, Hogan. And believe it or not, I am grateful."

"You don't need to be."

"Oh, yes, I do," Klink countered. "Because no matter how much I play the loyal, willing soldier, Hogan, the truth is I am scared of dying. I do not wish to be shot down as a traitor. Nor do I wish to be shot trying to escape."

"I won't let anyone shoot you," Hogan answered matter-of-factly.

"I have had a lot of time to think down here, Hogan, and I have sadly come to the conclusion that you are by far the better man." Klink looked up at the man who only weeks earlier he had considered to be his prisoner. "I have tried to avoid that deduction, but everything points to it. You fight for your beliefs. I hide mine. And that makes me nothing but a coward." He shook his head. "I could have lived without knowing that for a little bit longer."

Hogan shook his head insistently. "You didn't hide from them the day you warned me about the order to execute officers."

"One moment of glory," Klink laughed without humor. "And look where it got me!"

"Next time you're near a mirror, Kommandant, take a look at what looks back at you. I'll bet you can look yourself in the eye." Hogan came forward and gently tapped the box he had handed the German. "You didn't get those for nothing."

Klink stared hard at the box, unwilling or unable to look at Hogan's face. Then Hogan hopped up the ladder and headed upstairs.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Your uniform is here and ready to fit you just nicely, Colonel Hogan," Eichberger announced a few days later. He nodded toward a smart-looking jacket hanging on the coat rack in near the door. "I think you will find it to your satisfaction."

Hogan glanced briefly toward the clothing. "Okay. You'll have to get someone to bring it to the Barracks and tell us it needs altering by our tailor, Newkirk. I can't just walk it back there. And make sure you hide the pips—there are no German Majors wandering around Stalag 13 so it would look pretty suspicious otherwise. We don't tend to run an alteration service here."

Eichberger smiled. "You think of everything."

"I stay alive."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"London on the line, Colonel."

Hogan looked up from the papers on his desk inquisitively. "London?" he echoed.

"They say they've got information for you."

"Thanks, Kinch." Hogan got up, frowning in thought, and headed down to the tunnel. He glanced around; Klink was nowhere in sight. He picked up the microphone and a headset as Kinch manned the controls. "This is Papa Bear, repeat Papa Bear. Over."

He listened. And as he did, his eyes widened. He motioned to Kinch for the clipboard and a pencil, and he started scribbling down some code that Kinch couldn't translate offhand. Obviously, Hogan could, since his face was paling slightly and his expression, which had started as stunned, was quickly changing to concerned and determined. He pressed the clipboard back into Kinch's hand. "Repeat it back," he said hoarsely.

Kinch did as ordered immediately, nodding as confirmation was given. Yes, it was all correct. And yes, it needed Hogan's attention as soon as possible. Hogan signed off and sat down, nearly colorless, on the cot near the radio.

Kinch waited a long minute before speaking. "Colonel Hogan, are you all right?" he asked simply.

Hogan didn't answer right away, his mind obviously still working on something else.

"Colonel?"

Hogan snapped to reality. "What?"

"Are you all right?" Kinch repeated.

Hogan nodded absently. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." He chewed his bottom lip. "Kinch," he started. But he didn't continue.

"Yes, Colonel?"

Again Hogan remained silent. Kinch knitted his brow and waited. Finally, Hogan said, "Kinch, that mission to blow up the railroad track just got more involved."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Blimey, you must be kidding!" Newkirk exclaimed when Hogan broke the news to the men a short time later. "That kind of makes getting Abington a bit of a side job, then, doesn't it?"

Hogan nodded. "They're both pretty important. But if Hitler's train is scheduled to be running on that track the same night, then it takes number one priority."

"Every inch of that railroad's gonna be under heavy guard, Colonel," Kinch said.

"It's gotta keep moving, Kinch, and there are only so many people they can have watching the train when it's not at a station. We'll just have to make sure we don't lay the charges too early, and make sure we get out of sight, fast."

"Is London sure about this, Colonel?" asked Carter, whose mind was already running toward ways that he could make his explosives better, faster, smaller.

Hogan picked up the coded message he had scribbled down earlier and nodded grimly. "Underground reports credible source informs that _Fuhrersonderzug_ is traveling along targeted railway line same night as Abington party, twenty-two hundred thirty hours. Priority one."

"'Credible source.'" Le Beau pursed his lips. "I wonder who that is."

"Probably someone closer to the action than most of our regular contacts. Whoever it is, we're not about to be given their name. London obviously considers it reliable enough to go with. So we've gotta go with it, too."

"But, Colonel," Le Beau said in a hushed voice. "_Hitler!_"

Hogan nodded. "I know. It's big. Probably the biggest. And the train is Hitler's traveling headquarters, so there might be others on board who are worth getting rid of, too. We've got to get this right. Carter?"

"Yes, sir?" The young man's enthusiasm nearly bowled Hogan over.

"You're going to have to refine. And we're going to have to play it close to the mark. If we're going to try something this bold, we're going to have to cover every angle."

"I'm your man," Carter declared. "I'll go downstairs right now and start plotting."

Hogan allowed himself a brief grin. Then he said, "Just make sure you keep Klink out of it. I'm not sure he'd be thrilled to hear about our plans for the Fuhrer."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel Hogan, I have just been told the most amazing news," Eichberger said.

"What's that?"

"Tomorrow night, while we are at the party, Hitler's special train is supposed to be traveling through the area on its way to a private meeting!"

Hogan tried to look astounded. "Hitler? So the party's being called off?" he asked.

Eichberger shook his head, smiling. "No, no—not for a five minute passing by. I was just thinking that it might make for a marvelous opportunity! Imagine—getting that mad Corporal!"

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Hogan asked. "In case you've forgotten, I'm supposed to be at the party with you."

"Of course, of course," Eichberger admitted. "But you must have people who can do something!"

Hogan paused to think. Eichberger was sharing sensitive information, information that had already been independently confirmed. He had been straightforward and helpful throughout his tenure at the camp, and although a couple of things hadn't rung genuine in Hogan's head, Eichberger had done nothing but what he promised from day one. Hogan knew he had been more cautious than normal all along, and he had always put it down to his horrific experience when Hitler's execution order was put in place.

But now he knew it was time to trust again.

"We can do something. Just leave it up to me."

Eichberger smiled broadly. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan. I can't tell you what this will mean to me."

Hogan nodded. "It won't be bad for my morale, either."


	42. On the Brink

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Hogan was a light sleeper.

It was almost impossible to sneak up on him, even in the middle of the night. One creak of a floorboard or a pencil-thin shaft of light and the American's senses were on full alert, and you could swear he had never been asleep at all. Not only was he aware of your presence, but he knew who you were, and exactly where you were. And, if he was particularly on edge, he was also armed.

But that was before.

Now, after his near-fatal meeting with Hochstetter, uninterrupted, peaceful slumber was still a stranger, and when Hogan finally did succumb to his tiredness, he slept deeply, and it was difficult to rouse him. So when Kinch came into Hogan's quarters in the wee hours of the morning, he walked right up to his commanding officer's bunk and gently rocked his shoulder. "Colonel Hogan?" he called softly.

Hogan was instantly awake, but was slow to become alert. "Kinch?" he asked. Hogan propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes to help wake himself up.

"Colonel, London's on the radio. They want to talk to you, _right now_," Kinch said.

Hogan frowned. "Now?" he repeated, yawning. "What time is it?"

"About two, sir."

Hogan groaned sleepily and swung his feet over the side of his bunk. "Uhhn... this couldn't wait till morning?"

"No, sir," Kinch replied. "They said _now_."

Hogan frowned again, then nodded. "Tell them I'm coming," he said blearily. Kinch disappeared back into the barracks, and Hogan groggily started getting dressed to head downstairs.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan began to wish he hadn't woken up as he listened to the tirade coming in from London. Kinch watched as Hogan's face changed from simply tired, to confused, to angry, to almost outraged. "No, it _wasn't_ a practical joke. How did you expect me to know _that_?" Hogan retorted.

Kinch ran his tongue along his lips, trying not to listen but not having much of a choice. "No, we didn't study it first. We're not rocket scientists here; we're soldiers. There was a lot going on, and we thought it was important to get it to you as fast as possible, not sit on it so we could have a look on our own." Hogan was nearly shaking with emotion. "The next time, I'll make sure we label it 'For Amusement Only' before we send it," he said sarcastically. A silence from Hogan, then, "Well, enjoy it," he said. "We'll be working on that big project for you tomorrow night while you sit back and laugh."

An even longer pause. Hogan fumed, then his face seemed to whiten as some reprimand obviously came down the wire. "Yes, sir," Hogan replied respectfully. A short silence. "Yes, sir, but I'm sure you can appreciate what's going on over here.... No, sir, I won't." Hogan's eyes told Kinch that the Colonel was feeling beaten. "No. No, sir, we didn't know." Hogan closed his eyes. "It's a great disappointment to us, too, sir.... Yes, sir, I'll pass on your best wishes.... We'll let you know when, sir." He opened his eyes. "Thank you, sir. Papa Bear, over and out."

Drained by the transmission, Hogan slowly dragged the headsets off and put them on the table, then turned away. Kinch picked them up and carefully put them away, and when he turned back he saw Hogan rubbing his temples as though trying to erase a headache. The answer was obvious, but Kinch knew he had to ask the question if Hogan was going to speak up. "Something wrong, Colonel?"

Hogan let out a short, humorless laugh and drew his hand down. "Wrong?" he asked. "Nothing could possibly be wrong." Hogan shook his head. "Except that the supposed formula for the rocket fuel we sent back to London had enough alcohol in it to get the entire Eighth Air Force drunk for a week."

Kinch's eyebrows shot up, and he gave Hogan a questioning look.

"Alcohol can be used in rocket fuel," Hogan explained, not without irony in his voice. "And had we had time to translate all that gobbledy-gook that we got from Schoendorfer, apparently we would have discovered that we risked our necks for a really nice cocktail, but not much else."

"It was useless?" Kinch asked, amazed.

"Oh, not necessarily," Hogan said with a wry smile. "All those chemical compounds will make for a pretty potent punchbowl come Christmas time at Headquarters."

Kinch shook his head. _Oh, boy_. "What does it mean, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged and tried to smile. "It means we'll have the Germans to thank for the hangover we suffer through when we finally get home."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan blinked, deep in thought, as he pushed his feet into the tall brown boots and smoothed out the blue-grey tunic that formed part of his cover for the evening. The insignias he wore indicated honor and sacrifice, and Hogan listened carefully as Klink explained exactly why some of the medals adorning Hogan's chest would have been awarded. Shaking his head unbelievingly, Klink fingered the pieces Hogan called "costume jewelry" and asked just one more time, "And you're saying _Eichberger_ got these for you?"

"That's right," Hogan answered. "Think I'll fit in, in a roomful of officers at a fancy dinner party?"

Klink nodded. "And every woman who is considering an increase in status will be after you," he said. "You will make a very attractive picture to social climbers, Hogan. For your sake, I hope you do not have to answer many questions about how you acquired those honors."

Hogan nodded, understanding. "So do I. Otherwise I'll just have to let Major Huber's natural modesty take over." He stopped for a moment as he brought his focus on the work ahead. "Sergeant Wilson will be down here tonight to make sure you have everything you need, Colonel," Hogan informed him. "Since we're all heading out tonight, you need someone here who knows what's going on, and he's it."

Klink nodded. Part of him was feeling the rush of adrenalin that Hogan must be starting to experience as he prepared to head out; the rest of him was feeling a very real fear. What would happen to him if something went wrong? "Hogan," he started hesitantly, "are you _really_ going to try to assassinate the Fuhrer?"

Hogan paused in the adjustments of his uniform to look Klink straight in the eye. "If we can at all manage it, you bet," he said.

"Hogan... how will you do that?"

"There are several ways: we can blast the track while the train runs through a tunnel. We can throw a suitcase of explosives off the platform as the train runs through a station. We can blow the tracks in front of and in back of the train so it's stranded and then blow the train up. There are a lot of ways. _Which_ way is being left open at the moment."

Klink stood open-mouthed, astounded as the list seemed to just roll off of Hogan's tongue. "You seem to have it all... thought-out."

Hogan nodded grimly. "We do. Get rid of old Nut Brain and we may get rid of the war."

"I doubt it is that simple, Hogan."

"So do I. But it'd sure have to help."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan tightened the sash on his long coat and surveyed his men with a serious eye. The knot that usually appeared in his stomach before a mission was there now, and larger than he could remember in a long time. _Not even any room in there for a cup of coffee to calm my nerves_, he thought fleetingly. The men looked back at him, equally serious. Hogan could see the intense eyes peering out from the faces dark with polish and soot from the stove. He ran his eyes up and down them for what seemed like the fiftieth time, trying to make sure that he had not missed anything that could put them in any more danger than necessary, trying to make sure that he really needed to have them all out there with him.

Trying to make sure that he could remember their faces in case he never saw them again.

Hogan swallowed and made sure he could control the steadiness of his voice before he spoke. "Now we're all clear," he said. "Are there any questions?"

The team shook their heads slowly. Hogan's tension was noticeable and they were starting to feel it, too. "I'll go out through the tunnel and meet Eichberger in the usual spot to drive to the party. Newkirk, you come with us—in the trunk. Don't let anyone see you, especially not Eichberger. I want you to be ready to grab Abington, and if Eichberger sees you, he's so new I think he'd be so busy looking at you that he'd give you away."

"Right, Colonel."

"Now we've seen the layout of the house; I want you waiting near the terrace. When the time is right, I'll draw Abington out there on the pretext of some serious talk, then you grab him and we'll make tracks. Eichberger knows we'll find our own way home."

"Right, sir."

"Kinch, Le Beau, Carter—you won't be sitting on your laurels while we're out there. You know what you have to do. Carter, you're the man in charge—you know what's best. And make it good—we may never have a chance like this again."

Carter looked earnest. "I took a good look when I went out the other night, Colonel. I know just where to take us."

Hogan nodded. "Good." He looked at Kinch and Le Beau. "Make sure he doesn't get carried away. We only have tonight."

The pair smiled at Hogan's order. _Thank God he's got some humor back_, Kinch thought.

"Now the train's scheduled to go through the area at twenty-two hundred thirty hours. Our meeting point is the barn about a mile east of the camp, no later than twenty-three hundred fifteen. Keep yourself hidden; even in the confusion, there's bound to be a search, and if you're in danger, don't hang around: it's back to the camp on the double. Don't even think about stealing a car; a racing vehicle would attract way too much attention. Newkirk and I will try to meet you there, but if we don't, your orders are to move out. The operation comes first." Hogan turned around to where Wilson was observing quietly. "Joe, you keep an eye on things here. We'll need you to play lookout. I'd like to avoid anyone needing you in a professional capacity tonight. But be ready, just in case."

No one could answer. A collective nod was all Hogan saw in response.

It was enough.


	43. Double Exposure

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan got out of the car and shut the door with a bang, adjusting his gloves as he passed the trunk and joined Eichberger to walk toward the house. He didn't look back, instead looking all around him at his surroundings, mapping out trees, buildings, lights, in his head for future use.

"A lovely evening," Eichberger observed as the pair walked.

"A bit cold," Hogan replied shortly. At least his German overcoat provided some protection from the night air.

"Is everything in order?" Eichberger asked.

"We discussed this in the car. It's all fine," Hogan replied. "All you have to do is make sure I know when Abington arrives. And make some excuse for us not leaving together when the time comes."

"I will," Eichberger confirmed. "What about the train?"

"It's under control."

Hogan's tone signaled an end to any further discussion as they approached the front door. Hogan braced himself as he heard laughter from inside, and the sound of music and tinkling glasses, the symbol of some decadence during a time of frugality and hardship. "_Guten abend, Kapitan, Major. Lassen Sie mich bitte Ihre Mäntel nehmen_."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Newkirk opened the trunk of the car just a crack and listened. Nothing except the crisp sound of the winter night air, a strange silence that one could hear if he grew up with it. He twisted and turned until he could see out the opening he had made. Again, nothing. And parked conveniently so that the back of the car faced away from the road, making it easier to get out unnoticed. _Thanks, gov'nor_. Newkirk opened the trunk wide and slipped out to escape onto the grounds of the house.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch, Carter, and Le Beau said goodbye to Wilson and took off through the tunnel a few minutes after Hogan. Though it would take them about half an hour to get to the part of the railway line Carter had targeted for destruction, they knew they would lose track of time. Their minds were on too many things to think about the cold, or even about the work they were doing. They had split up; Newkirk and Hogan were in one place, and they were in another. Both were doing dangerous jobs. And both stood a good chance of getting caught.

Carter adjusted the pack he was carrying and continued walking purposefully toward their destination. He needed no map; on a job like this, everything was in his head. And, determined not to let Hogan's trust in his abilities be for naught, he concentrated on making sure he had calculated the strength of the charges and the placement of the explosives properly. There would be no turning back once they began.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan smiled graciously and accepted the drink offered from the tray. "_Danke_," he said with a nod. He looked around him, trying to find the British officer but not succeeding. His eyes came to rest on a lovely, brunette woman standing near Eichberger. She was holding fast to his arm, laughing in an almost exaggerated fashion, taking a small sip of a rather large drink. _Hanger-on_, Hogan couldn't help thinking. He caught Eichberger's eye, and the Captain extricated himself from the woman's grasp and made his way over to Hogan.

"What is it?" Eichberger asked, almost anxious.

"We've been here almost an hour; where's Abington?"

"I don't know—I wasn't told what time he would come, or even _if_ he would come. All I know is he was supposed to make an appearance tonight."

Hogan glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty. "He'd better get a move on. He's holding up the war."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Wilson smiled patiently and shrugged as Klink asked the question yet again.

"How do you do this? Doesn't the waiting drive you mad?"

Wilson spread his hands in a futile gesture, then looked back at the chessboard before him. "You can't do anything _but_ wait when Colonel Hogan is busy," he said. "He has to do what he has to do. I just feel lucky that I don't have to do it _with_ him." _I just have to clean him up when he's done._ "He's quite a man, our Colonel."

Klink stopped pacing and sat down. "I'm beginning to see that."

Wilson let his memories take him back to Hogan's arrival, before things in camp got turned upside down. "He's sure changed a lot."

"Not to me, he hasn't." Klink grimaced.

"Oh, I know," Wilson added hastily, noticing Klink's change in demeanor. "But it was _genuine_ change in the beginning. He wasn't always as confident as he is now."

"No," Klink mused, remembering himself how Hogan had stood before him when he first arrived from the Wetzlar transition camp. "No, he wasn't." Klink pondered, then moved a rook. "What happened?"

"He remembered who he was."

Klink looked up, startled. Had Hogan suffered memory loss?

"No, no, no," Wilson amended, understanding. "Not like that. But you're a soldier, Kommandant, you must know a little bit about psychology. When the Colonel first came to Stalag 13, it was after weeks of Hell. Being shot down, being interrogated... he couldn't even remember having surgery, and there are still big holes in his memory. He was lost, and some of his personality was lost, too."

Klink nodded. "It happens to a lot of men."

"But not all of them get it back. It was hard for Colonel Hogan to return to camp. The first time he escaped, I, for one, wanted him to _stay_ escaped. But thank God he was starting to find himself again, and he decided that he had to come back." Wilson pursed his lips. "Sometimes, when I have to work on him, I _still_ regret that." Then he laughed suddenly. "But then, so do the Nazis!"

Klink said nothing, but frowned.

"Sorry," Wilson mumbled.

It was Klink's turn to shrug. "I should feel lucky no one so far has treated me the way Hogan was treated when he was captured by the enemy."

"And no one will, if he has anything to say about it," Wilson said. "And believe me, he does."

Klink nodded. "And so... we wait?"

Wilson nodded back and captured Klink's queen. "Yep. We wait."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan continued making small talk around the room, strolling casually from one area to another, nodding politely and avoiding any direct conversation about his work in Berlin. After about another twenty minutes, his restlessness was reaching its peak, and he was considering telling Eichberger to forget the whole idea and simply concentrate on the train, when someone coming into the room caught his eye.

Morrison.

The man the Germans knew as Major Hans Teppel was laughing loudly with a Luftwaffe Colonel, doing the rounds with these people who were obviously familiar with him, until his eyes lit on Hogan. With only a slight flicker of recognition, he made his way very offhandedly and, to Hogan, excruciatingly slowly, until they met face to face. "I don't believe we've met," Morrison said graciously, looking Hogan in the eye. "Major Hans Teppel, Military Intelligence."

"Major Ludwig Huber."

"_Heil_ Hitler." Morrison's hand went up.

"_Heil_ Hitler." Hogan returned the salute with a little less enthusiasm.

"I hear your work keeps you in Berlin most of the time, Major. What brings you to Hammelburg?"

"Work again," Hogan answered evenly.

"It's a beautiful night. Perhaps you could regale me with your stories outside on the terrace."

Hogan nodded. "A lovely idea," he answered. "With such a fine, clear sky, one can still hear all the entertainment from within."

The men strolled toward the French doors that opened onto the terrace, with Morrison taking two drinks off a passing tray and handing one to Hogan. Laughing, the men wandered outside. Then, keeping their faces light, Morrison changed his tone.

"I heard you were looking for me, Hogan. What's going on?"

Hogan laughed to himself. "Nothing now. We had questions about Black Forest. He was assigned to the Abwehr for awhile."

Morrison shook his head, his eyes showing sadness. Still, he laughed heartily before answering, and Hogan joined in the charade. "Yes, that was a shame. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do." He looked around him. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

Hogan smiled and sipped his drink. But his eyes asked another question. "What, kick him out for incompetence?"

"No, order his arrest by the Gestapo. He'd been caught out, and I couldn't give away my own cover; we'd have both been shot. And my superiors would have been very, very displeased to have ten years' work against the Abwehr go to waste." Morrision paused. "What's the matter, Hogan? You look like you're going to faint."

"I may." Hogan swallowed, hard. He put his glass down on the nearby ledge and turned to face Morrison. "Are you telling me Black Forest was exposed?"

Morrison nodded grimly. "Exposed and executed."

Hogan could barely think. The world suddenly started spinning. He wanted to keep up the facade of being amused but found himself completely unable to. "When?"

Morrison shrugged. "About six months ago."

"Are you sure?" Hogan whispered. He could feel the sweat pouring down his now very cold body, as the blood drained from his face. "Could he have escaped?"

Morrison shook his head regretfully. "Firing squad. I had to watch." He looked carefully at Hogan again. He shrugged exaggeratedly and shook his head, as though reacting to an amusing anecdote. "What's the problem?"

"He talked," Hogan managed, not joining in. "He must have talked before he was killed."

Morrison considered. "It's possible. But, how do you know?"

"The new Kommandant of Stalag 13—Captain Eichberger; he's here tonight—he came in a couple of months ago, when the Fuhrer's crazy order was out to kill all the Allied officers."

Morrison nodded. "I thought about you when I heard that. Glad you made it out."

"I nearly didn't. And we had to get Klink out of there as well—he's waiting in the tunnel for transport to London. But Eichberger came in to take his place. And he claimed to be Black Forest." Morrison gave a start. "He knew the codes, he knew the background, he knew Black Forest's main contacts. He even knew my own code name. I didn't trust him for a long time. But he started helping with sabotage missions, and he's been an amazing asset to the team." Hogan shook his head, disgusted with himself. "Obviously_ too_ amazing. I can't believe I fell for it." Hogan ran a hand through his hair. "It's been a set-up all along." His mind flew to the reprimand from London over the useless formula they had sent back. "The targets he suggested must have been useless, or warned ahead of time to get their most important people and materials out." Hogan started despairing, a feeling he didn't like as he felt out of control when he was worried. "Tonight was supposed to be the biggest caper of all—a direct strike on a train carrying Hitler on his way to a special forces meeting tomorrow."

Morrison shook his head, all pretence gone. "There is no such meeting; I would have been informed for security purposes."

"Oh my God," Hogan breathed. "My boys are all over the woods. Morrison, I gotta go."

"What about Eichberger?"

"Tell him I got drunk and had to—tell him I got drunk and let him draw his own conclusions. I don't know. Just give me some lead time. I have to warn my men so they can get away."

Morrison nodded, understanding Hogan's mission as well as his fear. "I'm sorry I wasn't around earlier," he said. "Good luck, Hogan."

Hogan rubbed his eyes, then covered his mouth with his hand, thinking wildly of every bad outcome possible. "Thanks. But it might just be too late for that."


	44. The Plot Revealed

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch cursed his big fingers as he fumbled with the intricate workings of the explosives Carter had designed. He was happy playing with radio buttons and switches, but he had never felt entirely comfortable trying to place tiny fuses onto dynamite or playing with grenades, the pins of which he often felt his finger would get caught in as he pulled. Still, he got to work and did his part in laying the charges along the track, following up by covering his deed with small rocks, dirt, and debris that built up along the railway line. He worked fast in the cold, only stopping to flex his fingers when his hands started to go numb, then starting up again.

Nearby, Le Beau was crouched close to the ground, using his nimble fingers to prime the dynamite he was handing off to Carter. Their eyes and hands were on the task at hand. But their minds were in a house north of Hammelburg, at a party no one they knew would be enjoying.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Going so soon, Major?"

Unable to spot Newkirk, Hogan had left the terrace, intending to gather him on the way out, and was in the still-quiet hallway near the door when the question stopped him. He didn't turn around.

"Abington is late, Eichberger. I'm going to do some reconnaissance."

Suddenly Hogan felt hot breath on his neck, and a hard, strong push halfway up his back from what was unmistakably the barrel of a gun.

"I don't think so."

Hogan stiffened and moved his hands away from his body a bit to show he was holding no weapon; they had all relinquished their guns when they entered the party.

"Come with me. And don't try anything stupid; no one here would help you anyway."

Hogan didn't even try to talk his way out of it; he knew that, even with Morrison in the house, Eichberger was right. They retrieved Hogan's coat and hat, with Eichberger standing almost on top of the American so his gun was out of sight. The German took the weapon handed to Hogan, and prodded Hogan out to the car. "What's this all about?" Hogan asked as the Captain fairly pushed him into the driver's seat.

"We're going for a drive, Colonel Hogan," Eichberger said.

"A drive? Look, if you don't like the plan, just say so. We don't have to get Abington tonight."

"Start driving. Head back toward Stalag 13."

"If you thought the party was _that_ boring, we could have just gone to the _Hoffbrau_." Hogan's mind was ticking over. What time was it? He tried to remember when he last looked at his watch. When he was with Morrison it was ten o'clock. It must be well after that now. But how long before the charges his men were laying went off? Or were they already in the hands of the Gestapo and being interrogated by some merciless non-com looking for a promotion?

"Just be quiet and drive."

Eichberger's gun stayed trained on Hogan's temple. Hogan tried to maintain a calm exterior, but his body was rebelling. He was already sweating profusely, and to his disgust he could actually feel his hands trembling as he clutched the steering wheel. Blood roared past his temples as his head started pounding relentlessly, and somewhere he registered an ache in his right hand that dragged him forcibly back to that awful day when Hochstetter had pulled him away from his men and started this whole mess. Still, Hogan's breathing was perfectly normal, and he decided to obey Eichberger, lest his voice give away anything else.

"You were so stupid, Hogan," Eichberger observed calmly. "It was so easy to trap you." Hogan tightened his grip on the wheel despite the twinge in his hand and remained silent. "When I first came to Stalag 13, I did not know who you were. Oh, Major Hochstetter and I suspected. But of course, the Major had been completely incompetent about the way he proceeded."

Hogan was startled. He bit his lip and concentrated on the road. He wanted to formulate a plan to get away. But he had to see how much Eichberger did know, so he would be able to determine the fate of the operation.

"So I suggested to the Major that I assume the identity of Black Forest." Eichberger laughed softly. "Do you know what happened to Black Forest, Colonel Hogan?"

"Why don't you tell me," Hogan replied stiffly.

"He was working for Abwehr. A nice cover if you can get it. But he was not very bright, and he was discovered and arrested. Before he was shot, he was persuaded to tell us everything about himself and his work. And so I assumed his identity and took his place—but in the Luftwaffe. I did not lie to you back in camp, Colonel. I did indeed want to get closer to you. But not so I could help you."

Hogan was sure he could taste blood as he bit down harder.

"Major Hochstetter and I decided that I would simply work on the assumption that all his suspicions were correct. That you were Papa Bear, and that you had an operation running out of Stalag 13. I knew enough about how Allied High Command worked from our... talks... with Black Forest before his unfortunate demise to be able to speak somewhat knowledgeably to you. I admit for awhile I thought we might have been barking up the wrong tree—your insistence that I was pinpointing the wrong person went on for a terribly long time—but perhaps it was your weakened condition that finally led to your downfall. In which case, Major Hochstetter's somewhat distasteful methods actually had some usefulness."

Hogan's hand was screaming now as he nearly broke the steering wheel in two. "You don't know nearly what you think you do," he rasped.

Eichberger laughed. "Stubborn to the end, eh, Colonel?"

"Why now? Why not before now, when you and I first went out?" Hogan had promised he wouldn't give Eichberger the satisfaction of gloating. But he needed to know, somehow.

"You would not involve any of your men before. And we wanted to establish certain, witnessed activity. You here now, in German uniform, is enough for me. And it will be enough for a trial as well."

Hogan snorted. "_Trial_," he mocked. "I doubt I'll see anything like that."

"You may be right. When we get back to Stalag 13 and Major Hochstetter gets hold of you again, you may wish you had never made it away alive the first time."

_I have no doubt about that_, Hogan thought. "But you're not lily-white yourself. What about the convoy?"

"Empty trucks with a bit of fuel sprinkled inside to help make the fires that much brighter."

Hogan's head spun. "And the train due tonight?" _At least **that** was confirmed by London!_

Eichberger smiled. "Major Hochstetter let it slip to someone suspected to have contacts with the Underground that the Fuhrer was due to pass by in _Fuhrersonderzug_ on the same night Abington was due to spill his secrets. But the only train scheduled to go through that station tonight is carrying Allied prisoners of war." Hogan nearly vomited at the thought of what that statement implied. "Oh, and by the way, Colonel Hogan—" Eichberger smiled—"Abington is still quite British. And not anywhere near here tonight. So you see, we had it all planned from the very beginning."

Suddenly a loud explosion sounded in the distance, and the car rocked slightly as the ground underneath them trembled with the impact. Hogan felt a pain in his chest like someone had stabbed him. Devastated, anguished, he gasped, as the faces of his own men mixed with imagined images of the destruction they had just wrought on their allies. _Ten-thirty. God, if I only hadn't trusted... If I had even suspected... _

Eichberger laughed. "It is done! Now that your men have done their jobs, Colonel Hogan, I have proof of your sabotage. Major Hochstetter is descending on Stalag 13 as we speak, ready to round up your associates. And I? I can shoot you as a spy right now—legally, since you are in German uniform, and you can easily be identified by myself and Major Hochstetter as a prisoner of war." Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw Eichberger wave the gun he was holding. "There is no point in waiting. Pull over."

Hogan stopped the car. Eichberger motioned him out with his gun, and Hogan obeyed wordlessly. "Kneel down over there," Eichberger ordered, his voice turning harsh. Hogan walked over to the spot in the ditch by the side of the road where Eichberger indicated and knelt down. "Turn around," Eichberger barked.

Hogan turned around so he was facing the woods. Eichberger's voice was abrasive and taunting, but the truth was Hogan could barely hear him. The words were getting through, but he was simply complying with the Captain's wishes automatically. Inside, his mind was working to try and figure out where he had gone wrong, how he had missed this, if there was anything he could do to turn this seemingly hopeless situation around. Could he overpower Eichberger? Possibly. But with Hochstetter at Stalag 13 and ready to haul in Hogan and his men, he would only be delaying the inevitable. Perhaps this way, if Eichberger did away with him here and now, his men would have time to realize there was something badly amiss, and be able to escape themselves.

Eichberger kicked Hogan's feet apart as he knelt on the hard, uneven earth, and Hogan spread his hands as the Captain commanded. Hogan felt like he was going to be sick, and he was suddenly cold, so very cold, as he realized that not only had he failed, but he had taken down his men with him. _His men_—the one group of people in all of Germany he would have laid down his life to protect. He felt himself calming down as he considered that perhaps that was just what he was doing now.

Hogan swallowed, feeling the cold night air whip across him, seeing so many faces flash before him as the barrel of a pistol pressed up against the back of his head. He felt a flush of blood race through his body as the sound of the safety being removed from the gun loudly rang through his ears. His knees weakened; he closed his eyes and forced himself to stay upright. _You won't feel it. It will be over in seconds. Father, I did the best I could. Please accept me into Your kingdom...._

"Any last words?" Eichberger asked.

"Yeah."

Eichberger swung around toward the unexpected voice from behind him. The split-second he had left to live was used expressing surprise as he faced a man dressed in black and aiming a very deadly Luger at him. The flash of the gunshot was so bright....

The impact sent Eichberger flying. There was no time for suffering; it was all over, and his lifeless body lay contorted on the ground inches from where Hogan was still kneeling.

Everything had happened so fast that the Colonel had not moved or turned around. Now, as his brain finally registered Newkirk's voice and what had just transpired, he slumped to the ground, shaking, trembling as wasted adrenalin tried to work its way through his veins. The Corporal came up to Hogan at once and knelt beside him. "Are you all right, gov'nor?" he asked, his voice worried.

Hogan couldn't speak yet and simply nodded twice as he stared at the ground, holding out a hand to Newkirk as though to pat his arm but not seeing him and missing his target. Newkirk let Hogan recover for a moment before trying again. "Colonel, are you all right?"

"Yeah," Hogan whispered unsteadily. He looked at Newkirk, using a shaking hand to wipe his face and trying to stand up. Newkirk offered support to Hogan's wobbly legs and guided Hogan back toward the car. "Where—how did you—?"

"I heard what Morrison said outside and figured there'd be trouble. When I saw you and Eichberger heading out of the house, I got straight into the back of the car."

Hogan nodded, letting the information wash over him. Maybe it would process later. Right now, it was all just words. "Thanks," he said, still breathless. He took a minute to steady himself, and it was in that moment that he collated all the facts. He looked at Newkirk, a hopelessness the Englishman never thought he'd see in his commander reflected in his eyes. "Newkirk," Hogan said, almost destroyed, "we've lost the operation."


	45. Auf Wiedersehen, Stalag 13

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter, Le Beau, and Kinch huddled in a corner of the barn, anxious despite their success. "What time is it?" Carter asked again.

"Look at your watch," Le Beau hissed.

"Ten past eleven," Kinch replied. It wasn't worth trying to calm Carter down now. All he could do was diffuse the tension. Hogan and Newkirk had not yet arrived. They weren't late, yet. No need to panic. But Kinch was feeling a sense of dread that he couldn't explain, and he had a feeling that the next five minutes weren't going to bring any good news.

"Where are they?" Le Beau asked, his anxiety coming out as anger. He didn't expect an answer.

"They've still got time," Kinch said, trying to convince himself. "Maybe Abington came late."

Carter agreed. "Maybe he didn't come at all, and the Colonel and Eichberger waited till the last minute to leave."

"Maybe." Le Beau didn't sound convinced.

The sound of a car pulling up halted their tense conversation. They made sure they readied their weapons. "Colonel Hogan said they are not coming in a car," whispered Le Beau.

Kinch nodded as they crouched down behind some bales of hay they had stacked up when they arrived. Aiming his gun toward the door, he held his breath and waited. The door burst open, and in the pale moonlight the outline of two figures appeared to be framed.

"Fellas, it's us!"

Kinch put the safety back on his gun and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He stood up, Le Beau and Carter following suit, and came out from behind the hay. "Glad you could make it," he said lightly. But his mood changed quickly as he felt no serenity coming from the new arrivals.

"We've got trouble," Hogan said. "Big trouble."

Carter and Le Beau came out to the rest of the group. "What do you mean?" Carter asked.

"Eichberger was Hochstetter's plant," Hogan explained. "And now Hochstetter knows all about the operation."

"So Black Forest _did_ turn traitor!" Le Beau spat.

"Black Forest is dead. Eichberger took his place a long time ago." Hogan stopped as he took in the bewildered looks of his men. Now wasn't the time for long explanations. "Look, Eichberger told Hochstetter everything. Hochstetter's supposedly at the camp now, waiting to round up me and anyone who's helping me." The reality of what Hogan was saying started to strike them. Hogan said simply, defeated, "It's finished. It's time to get out."

Newkirk shook his head. Carter looked devastated, and Le Beau drew his face into an angry sneer. Kinch looked all around him. Why was focusing so hard? "Colonel, what are you saying?" asked the radioman.

"We've done our work, Kinch. We have to close up shop." Stunned silence filled the barn. Finally, Hogan added, "We got the preliminary escape route for Klink from the Underground last week. I want you guys to go to the first stop tonight and wait until they're ready to get you out. I'll go back to camp and destroy the records. We can't let them stay in the tunnels; if they're discovered, hundreds of people will die."

"You can't go back, Colonel; you just said Hochstetter's there waiting for you!" Kinch protested.

"We can't leave details of the operation behind. You know we have to get rid of it!" Hogan insisted.

"Then we'll all go back," Le Beau announced.

"No. I go alone," Hogan said.

"Not this time, Colonel," Newkirk said. "You can court martial me if you want, sir, if we live through it. But you're not going back on your own."

"_Oui_, me too."

"Same goes for me," Carter piped up.

"I guess it's unanimous," Kinch observed. "We all go, or none of us goes. You can't protect us this time, Colonel. We won't let you."

Hogan looked overwhelmed. Tonight had been too much for him, he realized. When it was all over, he would happily collapse for a week or more. But right now, there was no time to think of such luxuries. "Okay. But you do as I say when we're there. Our main goal in going there is to destroy any evidence of our existence, and get out alive. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Then let's go."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan motioned for the others to stop and duck down low as they approached the camp on foot. In the interest of secrecy, they had ditched the car about one hundred yards up the road and hidden it in the scrub in case they needed it later. They looked down at the barbed wire and the only home they'd known for the better part of three years.

"Krauts everywhere," Newkirk said grimly. "Look at them all, swarming like a bloody knocked-over beehive."

Hogan nodded, never taking his eyes off the scene before him. "So Eichberger was telling the truth. Hochstetter's goons are bound to be there. We're going to have to figure out the best way to get in...and then get out... without being seen."

A noise from somewhere nearby drove them face down to the ground, where they waited breathlessly until they realized it was just the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. "I'd say walking in through the front gate is out of the question," Kinch observed, as they watched two more guards join the ones already at the fence nearest them.

"Look at them all!" Carter whispered. "They must have every Kraut in town on patrol!"

"Well, you know the Nazis, Carter—they put _everyone_ to work—women, children, prisoners..." Hogan let his words drift away. _Prisoners. Oh, God, _he thought, tonight's destruction of the train coming back to haunt him, sickening him. _God, those poor men. Could I have stopped that from happening?_

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Hogan decided. "I'm going to go down and check out the tunnels. If it's clear, I'll come back and you'll follow. Give me five minutes. If I don't come back, head for the first checkpoint and don't look back. Got it?"

Every one of Hogan's men opened their mouths to protest. But the look on his face stopped them from speaking, and they simply nodded agreement. Hogan crouched down low, his gun clenched tightly in his hand, and scanned the area for any immediate threats between him and the entrance to the tunnel. Seeing nothing, and accepting the same conclusion from the others, Hogan ran stealthily to the tree stump and hopped in, closing the top and securing it behind him. Hogan's men were left to scrutinize the woods as they remembered the expression on Hogan's face: guilt, with a bit of fear, and determination. They had to let him do this his way, or the guilt would never go away.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Stripping off the German coat and hat as he ran, Hogan burst through the tunnel and back to the area under Barracks Two. "Any problems down here yet?" he asked the stunned Wilson and Klink.

Wilson stood up, worried by the Colonel's incessant, nervous movement; even now, as he waited for an answer, Hogan was darting in and out of corner rooms, stopping only to listen for any sounds coming from above. "No, Colonel, no problems. Are you all right? Where are the oth—"

"Check the other areas. We have to get out," Hogan said, not listening past the "No." Wilson felt his own stomach tightening. "Eichberger was one of Hochstetter's men. We've been betrayed; the Gestapo is all over the camp. Are you _sure_ you haven't had any trouble?"

Wilson shook his head. His body seemed to be frozen in place. "No, Colonel. No trouble," was all he could say.

"Good. Keep an ear out. I'm going to go get the others. We've got to get rid of as much information as we can before we leave. Otherwise a lot of people could die."

And he was gone.

Klink finally found his voice. "What does he mean, one of Hochstetter's men?"

"I don't know," Wilson said, still watching where Hogan had disappeared. "But I have a feeling no one's going to be getting any sleep tonight."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Carter, I want you to start getting the explosives together. Wire up the tunnel, and do it _big_. We're not coming back so it's okay if we collapse it all. Newkirk, get a fire started and make it a big one. Le Beau, Kinch—start burning all our documents—maps, names, places. We've got to get rid of everything. I'll get the stuff upstairs."

"But Colonel, there are Krauts up there!" Carter protested.

"That's exactly why we have to get rid of the stuff." Hogan took a deep breath. "Make sure you get out of those clothes. We won't be very welcome anywhere dressed as saboteurs." Hogan glanced at his own clothes. "And I won't get us in anyone's door if I stay dressed like this." Hogan's men stood waiting. "Okay, get moving."

The men ran off in their own directions, doing the jobs they had been assigned. Hogan listened carefully for any noises coming from upstairs and then tapped for the ladder under the bunk to release.

Coming cautiously into the dark room, Hogan moved quickly across to his quarters. Making sure his windows were darkened, he switched on a small light at his desk and started digging for hidden files. Under his bottom bunk, a small hole to store code. Near the window, pull-down maps. Under a floor board under the desk, a larger area to keep more detailed information about contacts and assignments. Hogan gathered as he went, and started the papers burning in the stove in the common room. The men sleeping in there stirred but did not waken; they were used to Hogan and his men creating noises in the middle of the night.

Hogan went back into his room and started changing out of the German uniform that Eichberger had given him. He gave himself little time to think about anything but the tasks at hand, but he could not help his head spinning at all that had happened tonight. Here he was, pulling on his US Army Air Corps uniform, running around the barracks for the last time, trying desperately to destroy any proof of his mission's existence, putting his men again in the face of danger. _All because I trusted someone I shouldn't have_. Hogan winced briefly at a pain in his hand as he hurriedly buttoned his shirt, but the pause was only for a second. _Nothing more than you deserve_, Hogan said punishingly. _It'll be a nice reminder of your failure_. He grabbed his jacket and crush cap and a couple of books and files that needed saving and took off to head back downstairs.

Three years' work.

And all traces of it gone in less than ten minutes.

When he was halfway to the tunnel, the door to the barracks opened. Hogan froze, and looked toward the open entrance to the people downstairs. _No, not them, too_, he thought desperately, and he quickly dropped what he was holding down the hole and banged on the bunk in the hopes that it would close before anyone realized what had happened.

The lights came on then, and Sergeant Schultz entered the hut. His eyes widened when he saw Hogan, and he quickly shut the door behind him. "Colonel Hogan!" he said in a loud whisper.

Hogan looked back at Schultz, no longer wearing a mask of innocence. "Schultz—" he began.

"Colonel Hogan, you have to get out—the Gestapo is here. They think you are coming back into camp with Captain Eichberger tonight, and they are waiting to arrest you and your men!"

"I know that, Schultz," Hogan answered. "I just came back to clean up. I'm heading out soon."

"You have to go _now_," Schultz insisted. "Major Hochstetter is starting inspections of the barracks to see if he can find anything with any of the other men while he waits for you. He is at the Barracks Five now; you have to go!"

"He won't find anything anywhere else, Schultz." Hogan stopped to think. "But you _are_ in a position to do me a favor."

"_Please_, Colonel Hogan, my favor is to let you go and to say I know _nothing_. Please, go now through that tunnel of yours. Please, _please_ go."

Hogan looked straight at Schultz. The time for charades was over. Whatever Schultz wanted or didn't want to know, Hogan didn't have time to sort out now. So he spoke plainly. "Schultz, a lot of people could die if we don't do this right. Not just us, but people like your brother who put their lives on the line every day to fight the good fight. And people like Colonel Klink." Schultz's eyes widened again. "He's downstairs, Schultz, always has been. And he won't live if we can't take him with us. But we need a head start. You can get us that."

"The Kommandant? He is _here_?" Hogan nodded. Schultz shook his head. "I don't believe it." He paused, then looked at Hogan. "Should I?"

Hogan let out an exasperated sigh. He didn't have time for this. "Do I have to prove it to get you moving?" Schultz seemed rooted in place. Not out of spite, but out of confusion. Hogan turned around and banged the bunk again. "Klink!" he called down. "Hurry up and show yourself!"

A few seconds later a bewildered and somewhat uncoordinated Kommandant Klink made his way up through the bunk until his head and shoulders were in the room. He squinted in the bright light, and even the prisoners who were waking up to the booming voice of the guard were surprised by the appearance of the Kommandant. "Hogan? Are you sure I should be up here?" Klink asked. As he got used to being in such an open area, his eyes alit on the Sergeant of the Guard. "Schultz?" he asked, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"_Herr_ Kommandant!"

Schultz came closer to the bunk.

"We got him out of the cooler before Hochstetter and Burkhalter put him in front of the firing squad," Hogan said, as the two Germans studied each other. "We have to go, Schultz, and he has to come with us. If you stall, we'll have a chance."

"Schultz, will you be all right here?" Klink asked. Schultz reached past Hogan to help Klink up into the hut.

"_Jawohl_, Kommandant, I am safe enough." Schultz looked at his commanding officer. "You look... tired, _Herr _Kommandant."

"Thank you very much," Klink said with some sarcasm.

"Look, we're _all_ tired," Hogan said with some impatience. "But if we don't get moving, we'll be resting _permanently_. I brought Klink up here so you'd understand why we need your help. So are you going to help or not?"

"Come with us, Schultz," Klink said suddenly.

Hogan raised his eyebrows. It was a thought he had not considered. "_Herr_ Kommandant?" Schultz said.

"Schultz, you won't survive with Hochstetter around and no one to protect you. Captain Eichberger is working for the Gestapo. You must leave, too."

Hogan turned to Klink. "Eichberger won't be coming back to Stalag 13." Klink looked shocked.

"No, Kommandant, I cannot leave. My family is here. And although I do have a brother and family in England," he said, with a brief nod toward Hogan, "my duty is here. I will be safe." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I know a lot more than people think I do," he said.

Hogan waited only seconds. "Schultz, we need five minutes. Can you get us just five minutes?"

"_Ja_, I am sure I can do that." Schultz took a moment to look at Klink as Hogan was about to bundle the Kommandant back down to the others. "_Herr_ Kommandant, it was a privilege working for you, sir."

Hogan watched quietly. Klink's expression was almost wistful. "Thank you, Schultz. You are a good soldier. And a good friend." Schultz saluted, and Klink returned the gesture, then held out his hand. "We will meet again, my friend," he said. "_Auf Wiedersehen_."

"_Auf Wiedersehen_," Schultz replied, a lump forming in his throat.

Sudden noises from outside startled the trio, and Schultz watched as Hogan practically pushed Klink back downstairs. "Five minutes, Schultz," Hogan reminded him. "Make sure all my men are out of the building—and you, too. See if you can manage to keep Hochstetter in here when you go. Got it?"

Schultz looked surprised. "Ja, I got it," he said, recovering. "Colonel Hogan," he called, as Hogan started down to the tunnel. Hogan stopped and looked at the guard. "Thank you for making this war a little easier to take."

Hogan smiled a genuine, warm smile at the Sergeant. "My pleasure, Schultz. For an enemy, you weren't a bad friend."

"Colonel Hogan, if you are looking for a place to hide, go to my house. Tell my wife I have sent you. She knows Colonel Klink, and she knows you. You can stay in the barn until you find another place. The Kommandant knows the way. You will be safe there."

"Taking sides, Schultz?"

Schultz shook his head knowingly. "_Ja_, Colonel Hogan. I think I am."

"I'll make sure I tell Ludwig when I see him." Hogan took a final look around at the remaining men, and took one final look toward his quarters, then slid quickly down the ladder and to the others who were waiting, packs in hand. Kinch hit the release to close the entrance, and Hogan turned to the others.

"This is it. Klink, you're coming with us. Wilson—"

The medic looked at Hogan, wide-eyed. "I'm afraid you're in on this, too. The Krauts are all over the other barracks already. If you suddenly appear, you'll be taken in a flash."

Wilson could only nod.

"Carter, have you laid the charges?"

"Sure have, Colonel," Carter answered.

"It's time to set the timers. Have them go off in five minutes, and make the one for this area big enough to bring down the entire barracks."

The others gasped.

"I've made sure our men will get out. Is everything burned?"

"_Oui_, Colonel."

"Okay. Let's get those timers going. Kinch, get the radio cranked up. Don't try to reach anyone, just make sure the radio detection truck picks up a signal so Hochstetter's men will hang around the barracks till the timers go off. As soon as you've done that, haul freight out of here. Leave the radio on. Newkirk, take Klink out, and take Wilson with you. Carter, you and Le Beau set those charges closest to the exit, then head on out. I'll follow when I've set the ones back here."

Newkirk recovered long enough to speak. "We should all go out together, sir."

"And we will," Hogan answered. "As soon as the charges are set. Now get moving." He grabbed his own pack, registering somewhere in his mind that one of his men had gathered the stuff he had dropped down through the bunk and bundled it up for him. "Last one out turns off the lights. We're running a conservative war, remember?"


	46. No Turning Back

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Herr_ Major! _Herr_ Major!"

"What? What is it?" Hochstetter growled at the young non-com racing up to him. He paused in his search of Barracks Five only briefly as the prisoners who usually slept there at this time of night were huddled together in the far corner of the room.

"The radio detection truck is picking up a signal from the direction of Barracks Two!"

"Barracks Two? That's _Hogan's_ quarters—why didn't you say so _at once_, you idiot? Let's go!" Hochstetter abandoned his ransacking and raced out immediately.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Now you had better stay awake and alert," Schultz was saying to the men of Barracks Two. "You heard what Colonel Hogan said about—"

The door to the hut burst open and Hochstetter came screaming in. "Search the barracks! Tear everything apart until you find it—there is a radio here, and it is working, and that means Hogan is somewhere in this camp!"

Four armed soldiers went to work starting to turn everything in the room upside down. The prisoners moved from side to side, trying to stay out of the Germans' way and yet doing nothing to help them with their investigation. After a few seconds of this, Schultz spoke up. "Herr Major, this might be a good time to have a roll call," he suggested. "The prisoners are only in your way anyway. This would get them out of your hair."

Hochstetter waved a dismissive arm without looking back at the guard. "Fine, fine. Do whatever you want with them, Sergeant. Take them on a ten mile hike for all I care. Just keep them out of my way. Hogan is here, somewhere, and I am going to find him!"

Schultz didn't wait to be told twice. "_You_ heard the Major," he bellowed. "Roll call, everybody! _Raus! Raus!_ Everybody _out_! And that means _you_, _too_, Olsen! Out, out, out, out, out!" The men started obeying immediately and without grumbling. "And _just_ to punish you, you are going to meet _all_ the way across the compound outside the Kommandant's office instead of next to your nice, cozy barracks!" he shouted.

Schultz glanced back at Hochstetter, who was showing no sign of letting up his mad search. It was just as well, he thought; if Schultz was going to stay here, he could use a little less of the madman for the rest of the war. He shut the door and quickly herded the men across the camp.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Carter, hurry up!"

"I'm coming, Colonel—just getting this last pack ready."

"This part of the tunnel will collapse with the rest of it; we only have a few seconds left. Get moving! Everyone else is already upstairs."

"Right, sir."

But Carter kept at his work. _There won't be anything left for the Krauts to get when **I'm **through_, he thought determinedly.

Hogan came up suddenly behind him and pulled him away from the device he was still adjusting. "_Come on_," Hogan ordered, in a voice and with a yank that stood no resistance.

Carter dropped the uncharged explosives, resigned, and grabbed his haversack. Hogan kept prodding him from behind until they were at the ladder. "Move—get up there," Hogan urged, even then pushing Carter from below.

But when Carter reached the third step, there was a deafening roar, and he was rocked off the ladder and back down to the tunnel floor, before either he or Hogan had a chance to get out.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"That's it, that's it!" Newkirk shouted in a whisper. "Look over there!" He pointed toward the camp below, where what was once Barracks Two was a mass of rubble and flame. "We did it! We ruddy well did it!"

"Where are Colonel Hogan and Carter?" Wilson asked.

All eyes immediately moved to the tree stump, where they expected to see the pair emerging. When no one came, they ran almost as one to the spot. Kinch opened the cover and dust came flying out, forcing him to turn his head away and cough. He waved the grit in the air away and tried to peer back in. There was so much noise coming from the camp that he took a chance on calling out loud. "Colonel Hogan! Carter!"

Le Beau forced himself to the front of the pack and tried to look into the dimness below. "Let me go down," he said.

"Louis, it's dangerous!" Newkirk said. But he had no intention of leaving without checking either.

Knowing he would not be stopped, Le Beau popped himself down through the stump and dropped to the ground below. "Wilson! We need help!"

Their stomachs plunging, Newkirk agreed to stay with Klink in hiding above while the others disappeared back into the tunnel. Wilson was the first one to make it. Hogan and Carter were both sprawled on the ground near the ladder, unconscious. Wilson stopped first at Carter, who was closest to the ladder, and checked him briefly. A cut on the Sergeant's forehead was bleeding, but was showing signs already of clotting. A quick examination showed no other apparent injuries, and he was breathing quite easily despite the dust in the air. "Get him upstairs; he needs to breathe fresh air," Wilson said, swallowing a cough of his own. Kinch and Le Beau started to pull up the Sergeant to haul him clear of the tunnel.

He turned his attention then to Hogan, who had landed face down and was now stirring slightly. "Colonel Hogan, can you hear me?"

Hogan groaned and tried to rise, shaking his head slowly as though to clear it. "Carter—" he coughed, not yet seeing around him.

"He'll be fine, Colonel. Come on, let's get you up." Wilson reached out to help when he realized the Colonel had landed on his right arm. Hogan gasped as he began to move it, then gritted his teeth against the pain. "Your arm, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head and kept moving. "My hand," he hissed, panting. "Hurts like hell." He struggled to his knees, then took a second to rub his forehead and used Wilson to get himself standing. "Never mind; we have to get out _now_." He felt dizzy when he stood upright, but he staggered to the ladder and followed his men out, with Wilson bringing up the rear.

Wilson took one last look down the tunnels as they ascended. Everything behind them was gone.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Jawohl, Herr_ General. I will keep the camp in order until you arrive," Schultz said. Then he praised the Fuhrer and hung up the phone. With Klink, Eichberger, and now Hochstetter gone, he was the highest ranking soldier at Stalag 13. A responsibility he did not wish for, he called General Burkhalter's office once he was satisfied that Klink, Hogan, and Hogan's men were gone.

_Let someone else run the war. I am a man of peace._

He went back outside to oversee the firefighting, and looked out into the woods to see if he could detect his Kommandant or the prisoners. There was no sign of them. Schultz heaved a sigh, relieved, and turned his attention to the now homeless prisoners of Barracks Two. They would need to find a new place to live.

_I know I wish **I** could, too._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"How is he?" asked Newkirk, as Carter was hauled out of the tunnel and carried into dense brush.

"Just got a knock on the head; he should be okay soon," Kinch answered, as slow movement from Carter indicated the man was starting to come around.

Carter tried to sit up. "Hey, what happened?" he asked. "What about the Colonel?"

Le Beau pushed him back down. "He is okay, too," he answered. "You took too long; your bombs caught up with you."

"See where the quest for perfection gets you?" Hogan came up from behind, pressing his right hand up against his chest and looking distinctly white, even in the darkness of the woods. "Next time settle for letting the aftershocks get it."

Wilson came to Hogan's side and pushed him into a sitting position as well. "How's the head, Carter?"

"Hurts a bit. But I'll be okay."

"Vision?"

"A little fuzzy... but maybe that's just me."

Wilson shook his head. "Or maybe it's a concussion. You're going to need to take it easy."

"How?" Kinch asked. "We have to get out of here."

Hogan stopped rubbing the back of his neck. "What about the car?" he mused.

"The car?" Le Beau repeated. "Won't the Krauts be looking for it?"

Hogan shrugged. "The only people expecting it were Eichberger and Hochstetter. And they're both out of the way, I hope."

Newkirk nodded. "Hochstetter's out of the way, all right," he confirmed. "The whole bloody barracks is a goner. We saw him go in, but we didn't see him come out."

"Then we'll take the car to the first rendezvous point and _then _ditch it." Hogan glanced around him. "Now it's going to be a little tight. Does anyone mind doubling up?" He looked directly at Klink.

Klink shook his head, still overwhelmed by everything that had happened. "I don't mind," he said.

"Good," Hogan said. The headache he'd developed earlier in the evening was now reaching epic proportions. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the center of his forehead before continuing. "Pick your buddy, everyone, and let's go. Make sure Carter's got someone who can hold him up if he's still a bit groggy."

"Right, Colonel," Wilson answered. _And you, too_. He looked at Kinch, who seemed to understand without Wilson speaking.

Kinch moved in next to Hogan. "I pick you," he said, with a hint of a smile on his face.

Hogan turned to the Sergeant. "Fine," he said evenly, though his eyes told Kinch he knew exactly what was going on. "But _I_ get to sit on _your_ lap, not the other way around."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"We look like we're going to a convention," Hogan observed with some unhappiness, as the group spilled out of the car. Kinch and Newkirk started covering it with leaves and branches.

"What's wrong, Colonel?" Wilson asked.

"We're such a big group, we'll attract attention like a magnet. Then if one of us gets caught, we _all_ go." He stopped for a moment, grim-faced, then continued. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it at the moment. We need to get to our first shelter. Carter's looking green around the gills."

Wilson pursed his lips. Hogan was right; Carter had stayed unnaturally quiet during the trip in the car, and the medic was worried about how hard he'd actually hit his head when the blast hit. But he wouldn't have a chance to properly examine Carter until they found a resting place. And he wanted to look at Hogan, too, though he knew that mission would be harder to fulfill. "How far away from the shelter are we?" Wilson asked.

Hogan pointed up the road. "See that farm? It belongs to the Ericksons. Jenny and Willi. They help out when they can. I'm going to see if they can take the bunch of us now. They were supposed to take me and Klink next week. We're running a bit ahead of schedule."

"Do you think they will, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged, then winced. _Bad idea_. "All we can do is try."

Wilson decided to take the direct approach. "And when we get there, it's not just Carter I'll be examining, either."

Hogan closed his eyes, trying to settle the argument between his hand and his head over which one could hurt the most. It was a sickening, nauseating tie, and Hogan turned away from Wilson as his stomach rolled and he broke out in yet another cold sweat. "Fine," he rasped. "Let's just get going."

"Colonel, can't we take the car all the way to the house?"

Hogan knew better than to shake his head. "No," he said almost inaudibly. "Too risky for the Ericksons."

"Then I'll walk with you."

Hogan turned back to the medic. "No, you stay with Carter. I'll take Le Beau. The Ericksons know him on sight."

Wilson agreed, and soon Hogan and Le Beau were walking slowly up the road toward the farm. "Colonel," Le Beau asked, "how are we going to get their permission to stay? It is the middle of the night!"

"I know," Hogan agreed. "But we can't afford to wait till daylight. I'm afraid we're going to have to take a chance on scaring them. Put your gun away, so they don't react automatically and whack me over the head with a chair—or blow our heads off."

"Nice welcoming committee," Le Beau answered, doing as he was told.

"Better than anything else we've had waiting for us tonight. I'd consider it a resounding success if they don't actually fire their weapons!"


	47. On the Run

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"The last time Colonel Hogan and his men were here, we were taken by surprise, as well," Willi Erickson explained. He poured steaming tea into the cups on the table, and the grateful, cold visitors wrapped their hands around them right away.

"Blimey, you can say that again," Newkirk said, nodding. "Knocking the Colonel on the head with a chair—thinking we were Gestapo. It's a good thing you were slow with your guns." He sipped the drink that reminded him so poignantly of home. _I'm comin', Nan. Not how I'd planned it. But I'm coming._

"And a good thing you were swift about coming to your Colonel's aid," Jenny put in. She looked warily at Klink, who was sitting next to Kinch. She leaned over to Newkirk and whispered, "Are you sure it's all right to have the _Oberst_ here?" she asked.

"Oh, 'e's all right, madam," Newkirk answered, as Klink started to look slightly insulted. "Harmless, you know."

Klink sat back in his chair, too tired to speak in protest. Once Le Beau had returned to tell the others that there was a cellar waiting for them with blankets and hot drinks, they had all walked to the house with the things they had brought from the camp. Unused to these long nights, the former Kommandant was beyond exhausted and was barely listening to the conversation.

"You are all very tired. Please accept the few blankets we have and get some rest downstairs. You will be safe there; no one goes down to the cellar but the dog. And even he is not willing to spend much time down there nowadays." Willi stood up as Jenny headed toward a closet in the next room. "Jenny will bring you something to eat when you have had a chance to sleep. Please let us know if your Sergeant Wilson needs anything for the young man or Colonel Hogan."

Hogan's men wearily murmured their thanks, until now almost oblivious to the time and their own tiredness, and made their way downstairs to where Wilson was holed up with his patients.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Ow! Hey, stop that!" Carter tried to wave Wilson's ministrations away, flapping his arm between them. Whatever Wilson had put on that towel was stinging the cut on his forehead.

"Come on, Andrew. It'll only hurt for a minute; I need to make sure this doesn't get infected!"

"It won't; I promise!"

Hogan sat nearby, head in hand, trying to keep his stomach where it belonged. "He won't take your word for it, Carter," he put in, as the conversation filtered through a blinding headache. "Trust me; I know whereof I speak."

Wilson turned briefly toward his next patient. "You're right about that. I won't take _your_ word for it either," he said. He turned back toward Carter, who was trying in vain to pull away. "Come on, now, Carter, how can I earn my Boy Scout badge if you won't let me practice on you?"

"_I _was in the Boy Scouts," Carter said. "And I'll _give_ you my First Aid badge if you'll just leave me alone!"

Wilson grinned. "That would be cheating. You know that's not the Boy Scout way."

One or two more dabs with the antiseptic and Wilson was finished. Carter shot a not-very-convincing scowl in Wilson's direction and said, "You wouldn't be out of place working for the Gestapo." Then, realizing what his impact his words could have, he glanced guiltily at Colonel Hogan and said, "Well, not really. Sorry, Wilson. Are you done with me now?"

Wilson smiled and patted Carter's shoulder. "All done. Grab that blanket and get yourself some shut-eye. You need it."

"We all do," Hogan said. "Take your own advice, Joe. You aren't used to this kind of excitement."

Wilson swung around to face the Colonel. "You're just delaying the inevitable, Colonel," he said determinedly. He glanced over to make sure Carter was following his instructions, and nodded relief that at least one of his patients would obey his orders. He looked back at Hogan and saw a man suffering both physically and mentally. "Come on," he urged gently. "Your turn."

Hogan brought his hand down from his face as he watched Carter starting to curl up on the floor nearby. He turned his bloodshot eyes to Wilson. "I just need to get some sleep," he said, not very convincingly.

"Yeah, you need that, too," Wilson said softly. "Whopper of a headache, huh?" he asked as he probed Hogan's temples and the rest of his head, looking for any signs of abrasions.

Hogan grunted and pulled his head away. "My head feels about three times its normal size," Hogan admitted grudgingly. "But that started well before the explosions back at camp."

"I don't doubt it," Wilson answered briefly. He looked in Hogan's eyes; pupils normal, no indication of internal injury. Just pain. And a deeper anguish that had nothing to do with physical injury. He chose to ignore the latter at the moment. The time would come to face that soon enough. "It's been a big night. Now, this hand—"

"Aaahh!" Hogan cried out involuntarily as fire crackled through his hand at Wilson's touch. He jerked it away and bit his lip, regretting both moves as another small explosion went off in his skull. He forced himself not to moan in pain and breathed himself back to calmness, caressing his hand, eyes closed.

"Sorry," Wilson said. _That's all I seem to say to you_, he thought. He tried again. "Let me see your hand," he said gently.

Hogan warily offered it, and the medic very lightly pressed on the back of Hogan's hand below the base of the once-abused fingers, then moved the fingers themselves. Hogan gasped, but stopped himself from pulling away by tensing his body to Wilson's touch and trying to focus only on breathing through his gritted teeth.

"You banged it hard in the tunnel blast," Wilson said. "It'll be okay, but you've aggravated it, and it's going to hurt for awhile."

"Mm-hmm," Hogan said through tightly pursed lips, as Wilson released his hand. His body went limp with exhaustion and relief.

"Time, sleep, and aspirin for your discomfort, Colonel," Wilson said. "Just like Carter." He took a couple of tablets from his worktable and poured a glass of water from the pitcher Jenny had brought at his request and handed them to Hogan.

"How is he?" Hogan asked, bracing himself against the pain of jerking his throbbing head back so he could swallow the pills.

Wilson nodded. "He'll be fine," he answered, taking the glass from Hogan. "A headache, of course, but no memory loss or loss of coordination. The best thing for both of you now is rest."

"I'll sleep," Hogan said, slipping off the stool. He picked up a blanket wearily and got ready to settle down near Carter. _Not a lot of room down here for seven men. But at least it's available, thank God._ "But I think I'm too tired to dream."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, Colonel Hogan. That might not be a bad thing at all."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel? Are you awake?"

Hogan heard the words somewhere in the distance but decided to ignore them. His head was still pounding strongly, and he had just consciously replaced his latest nightmare with an image of home. Whatever someone had to say now was unimportant.

"Colonel?" Hogan moaned a response. "Are you awake, sir?"

"What is it, Carter?" Hogan hoped he wasn't sounding aggravated.

"I can't sleep."

Hogan groaned. "Carter, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No, sir," Carter answered sincerely. "I sure don't. But the sun isn't up yet, so it's probably not six. And the guys are all still asleep over there—and Colonel Klink. I wouldn't just call him a 'guy;' after all, he's an officer, even if he's a German one, and –"

"Carter," Hogan said to stop the Sergeant. Trying to follow the logic was making Hogan dizzy. "What is it?"

Carter propped himself up on his elbow and looked at his commanding officer. "I can't stop thinking about last night."

Hogan opened his eyes and turned over to face the young man. "It certainly was a shock," he admitted.

"I'm sorry we got caught in the tunnel, Colonel," Carter said sincerely. "I didn't mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make sure that the Krauts couldn't get anything if we left something behind by mistake, and I sure didn't want you to get hurt."

Hogan smiled softly. "I understand," he said. "You can be guaranteed they got nothing."

Carter grinned. "It was kind of special, wasn't it?" he said. "We were stuck in that hole for three years—seeing it go up in the end was a kind of poetic justice."

Hogan shook his head carefully. Only Carter could find beauty in destruction. "I can't say I'll miss the old Stalag," he said. "But the next time you pull something like that I'll—" Hogan stopped abruptly and gave a short, wry laugh. "Never mind," he said in a soft voice. "There won't be a 'next time.'" He looked away.

Carter's grin disappeared. "Gee, no," he said, almost regretfully. "I guess there won't be."

Silence descended for a moment, with each man lost in his own thoughts. "You did good, Carter," Hogan said finally. "All the way through. Whenever I needed an expert, you were the one. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else the way I trusted you."

"Thanks, Colonel." Carter didn't know what else to say. He had a feeling Hogan was saying goodbye, and he wasn't ready to. Not now. Not yet. Not ever! Why, Colonel Hogan was a man to follow forever, not just when working against the Germans. He was someone who made Carter feel appreciated, trusted, valued—and no one had ever done that in quite the same way before. And he was an officer who made Carter feel pride in who he was and what he was doing, who made him feel like what he did was making a difference. No, he couldn't say goodbye to Hogan now. But all the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. All he could manage was, "I trusted you, too."

Hogan smiled gently but said nothing. He lay back and closed his eyes, and for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last twelve hours he realized how tired he was. _Sleep. You need sleep_, he thought, exhausted and hurting. _If only it weren't so full of nightmares…._

"Uh—Colonel?"

"Mm?" Hogan answered vaguely, already drifting out of awareness.

"Newkirk told us what happened with Eichberger by the side of the road," Carter said quietly.

The whole scene suddenly flashed before Hogan's mind's eye as though he were seeing it from a distance. Hogan kneeling facing the woods. Eichberger raising his gun to the back of Hogan's head. Pulling off the safety. Taking careful aim. The cold. The fear… Hogan opened his eyes, almost in a panic, to get the picture out of his head. "And?" he said, in barely a whisper.

"If he wasn't really working with us, then I guess the Fuhrer wasn't really on that train, either, was he?" Carter asked.

Another horror scene filled Hogan's head. This time he couldn't escape. He pulled the thin blanket tighter around his shoulders and turned away from Carter. "No, Carter. No, he wasn't."

"So what _was_ on the train, Colonel? Was it carrying supplies? Or was it empty?" Silence. "Colonel?" More silence. "What was on the train?" Carter shrugged when no answer came. "Colonel, are you asleep?... Gee. Well, I guess we're all pretty worn out," Carter said with a touch of uncertainty. "G'night, Colonel."

Carter turned over to get some sleep while he could. Hogan remained wide awake, as tears no one else could see rolled openly down his face.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

General Burkhalter turned away from the charred remains of Barracks Two, shaking his head. "Are you sure that Hogan was not in this camp, Schultz?" he asked, as he walked back toward the Kommandant's office.

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ General," Schultz said, bobbing his head up and down quickly. "I did not see Colonel Hogan. All I know is that Major Hochstetter wanted to look inside the barracks, and the men were in the way, so I moved them out."

"A wise move in the end," Burkhalter said. "I would not like to explain to the Red Cross how fifteen prisoners suddenly died in an explosion in camp. Where are the men now?"

"They are in Barracks Four, _Herr_ General."

"Good. And did any of the other prisoners take advantage of this disaster and try to escape?" Burkhalter asked.

Schultz paused. He wouldn't be able to keep the information secret for very long, anyway. "I beg to report, General, that there were five prisoners missing at roll call this morning."

"_Five?_" Burkhalter exclaimed.

"Four of Colonel Hogan's men, and the medic, Wilson. He is gone, too."

"General Burkhalter!" came a call. Schultz and Burkhalter looked up to see a young Lieutenant racing toward them.

"What is it?"

"General Burkhalter, Manheim has radioed in to say that they have found Captain Eichberger, sir."

"Where is he?"

The young man hesitated. "About a half mile from the railway station near Hammelburg. He was… dead, sir."

Burkhalter looked stunned. "Dead?"

The Lieutenant shifted feet. "Yes, sir. He was shot at point-blank range."

Burkhalter fumed. "Hogan…" He turned suddenly to Schultz. "Sergeant, I am going to take over this camp myself—as soon as I am done hunting down Colonel Hogan. He must still be in the area. Prepare Klink's old quarters for me to move in. Lieutenant, make a call to get all available units to this area. We need to comb it completely. Hogan won't get out of our grasp again!"


	48. Loyalties

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"We've got to plan how to proceed from here," Hogan said to the others late the next morning. Despite his desire to be up and about quickly, Hogan found that he had simply had to succumb to his body's demand for rest and had not woken up for several hours. Still sore, but feeling so much better than he had been the night before, he gratefully accepted the food and drink offered by the Ericksons, and made a thorough check on his men before allowing himself to relax.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Kinch asked. He took a bite of the honeyed bread Jenny had laid out, appreciating the warmth of the kitchen after a cold night in the cellar below.

"We can't travel together like this. No matter how safe we seem to be, moving in a crowd is inviting trouble." Hogan nodded toward Willi. "Willi here says he can get me to a radio. I'll contact the Underground and see if they can start taking us in pairs. Then I'll get in touch with London and tell them to start sending first class transportation. That's the very least you fellas deserve."

"Colonel, what about Klink?" Newkirk asked.

Klink looked up from his meager meal and eyed Hogan warily. "Yes, Hogan, what about me?"

Hogan looked back at Klink and would have even felt sorry for him, if he hadn't had so many other things to worry about at that moment. "He'll come, too. We can't let him go back to camp. As far as we know, he's still wanted. And if the Krauts suspect he's with us, they could pick up everyone on that list in his brain, and that would mean we couldn't extract the names from him ourselves and warn our agents."

"What do you want us to do in the meantime?" Le Beau asked.

Hogan looked at his men. Their faces carried a mix of bewilderment, fear, exhaustion, and determination. How he had led them into this mess he couldn't even fathom. And the guilt that suddenly slapped him in the face nearly overwhelmed him. "Scout the area. Look out for anyone trying to tail us. Make sure no one's threatening to find their way here." He stood up, ready to join Willi at the door. "And help Jenny with the dishes. She's not going to be a slave for you lot."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"The Colonel's right, you know," Kinch said, as the men hid once more in the cellar, waiting for the all-clear to come out. "We're going to have to split up."

Le Beau nodded his unhappy agreement. "_Oui_, Kinch. I know."

"I won't know what to do without all of you around to pick on my handwriting."

"And how will I cook for only myself?" Le Beau asked. "I am so used to cooking for five."

Kinch tried to calm his upsetting thoughts. "Well, at least we know we're all going to the same place. I never got to spend much time in London before I was shot down."

"I was only there once or twice." Le Beau considered. "I wonder when they will let me go back to France."

"We'll need to be debriefed first," Kinch reminded him.

"That could take months!"

"Well, maybe for some… for others, telling all you know could take just a couple of minutes!"

Le Beau smiled at his friend's attempt at lightness. But he found he could not join in. "It will not be the same, Kinch," he said. Kinch said nothing. "I did not choose to become a prisoner, but I am glad that I had the chance to work with all of you." Kinch tried not to hear the emotion coming into Le Beau's voice. "You have become like my family."

"Yeah," Kinch agreed, his mind drifting through the years they had spent together. Working together, playing together, being scared together. "I never thought I'd find a family with a bunch of guys in a POW camp. It would never have been like this at home in Detroit. But Colonel Hogan sure knew how to bring us together."

"What do you think will happen to him, Kinch?" Le Beau asked.

"The Colonel?" Le Beau nodded. "Who knows? I used to think he'd just breeze on out of here and go back to civilian life quite happily. But… an awful lot has happened to him, Louis. I wouldn't want to carry his burden. I can't imagine how he's going to cope."

"_Oui_. The Colonel is strong, but the war has been very cruel to him." He paused. "It has been very cruel to everyone."

The pair fell silent. Le Beau played with his scarf, and thought about all the times he had wished he was away from Stalag 13, back at home in France, and forgetting all about his time in Germany. Now that this was starting to happen, he found himself trying to forestall its imminence. "I will miss you all," he said quietly.

Kinch felt the tug of mixed emotions inside. Leaving was all he ever wanted. Staying had meant constant fear of being caught. But the thrill of victory over the Germans had carried him through, and the leadership of and acceptance by Colonel Hogan had presented him with a whole new perspective on life. What would he be going back to? Could the war actually have been good for him in some strange way? "I'll miss you, too, Louis. I'm going to miss everyone, even that crazy old Schultz."

_But I think I'll miss Colonel Hogan's unconditional trust and acceptance most of all._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What are you going to do after you get back to London, Joe?" asked Carter.

At the urging of a concerned Colonel Hogan, the medic had given Carter another brief examination in the morning. Satisfied that all was well, Wilson and the Sergeant had started a conversation, with little else to do until the all-clear was given to move on.

"I don't know," Wilson answered truthfully. "I mean, I always thought I'd have time to think about it. I wasn't planning on coming along when you fellas finally busted out of Stalag 13."

Carter nodded. "I know what you mean. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. But Colonel Hogan always made plans for it, just in case. I feel bad that I messed it up."

"You didn't," Wilson protested. "You just got carried away. But you've gotta be careful when you do stuff like that!"

Carter grinned. "That's what the Colonel always says. I felt so bad that he was caught in the tunnel with me. It's my fault he hurt his hand again. I mean, did you see him this morning? Holding it away from his body like he was afraid to bump it into anything? I really blew it."

"He doesn't blame you," Wilson answered. "Besides, it'll only be sore for a few days."

"Yeah, but I was really stupid. He kept telling me to get out, and I wouldn't leave! What's wrong with me?"

Wilson took in Carter's anxious look of self-loathing. "Nothing's wrong with you. You have a healthy dislike of the Germans…and probably a slightly _un_healthy _like_ of explosives." Wilson chuckled.

Carter nodded and gave a lopsided grin. "The Colonel never minded it much."

"I'm sure he didn't. It would have saved you all many times—and think of all the jobs you wouldn't have been able to do without your expertise."

"That's what the Colonel says—that I'm an expert. Y'know, I never really felt like an expert at anything until I came to camp. And Colonel Hogan was the first person to let me decide what I thought would work best. He really put a lot of faith in me."

"And he's a pretty good judge of character."

"He sure is. When the Colonel says that someone is good or bad, he's usually right on the ball. Eichberger was different, but the Colonel still didn't really trust him; he just couldn't find a real reason why _not_ to. And he was hurting so badly, who could blame him for being confused? But in general, you know, I've never seen anyone with an instinct like his. If the Colonel likes someone, he has a good reason—" Carter cut himself off when he realized where Wilson had led him. "So, I must be okay. That's what you're saying, huh?"

Wilson nodded. "Uh-huh."

Carter grew quiet for a moment, contemplating. "Thanks for looking after him, Joe," Carter said suddenly. Wilson just looked at Carter, waiting. "I mean from the very beginning. We did an awful lot of dangerous stuff, and you were always there to take care of the Colonel—of _all_ of us. And when Major Hochstetter got hold of him this time—" Carter found he couldn't finish, as all the fears he had built up until that terrible day dawned had been realized when Hogan was pulled, so desperately ill and broken, from solitary confinement. "Well, I know he trusted you, too."

"He doesn't give his trust easily, Carter. But you've got it. That makes you somebody pretty special."

Carter smiled, a genuine, hopeful smile. "Well, I know he trusts you, too—and Louis, and Kinch, and Newkirk. I guess that puts me in pretty good company!"

"The best. And don't you ever forget it."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"You'll like London, Kommandant," Newkirk was saying to Klink.

Klink shrugged. "I doubt the people at your Allied Headquarters are going to give me much time to enjoy it," he said.

"Well, you do have a lot to talk about, don't you?" Newkirk quipped. He sighed, looking around the cellar where the men were waiting for Colonel Hogan to return as Jenny went about her daily chores. "No, there's nothing like heading down the High Street on a Sunday afternoon, looking at all the ladies and gents dressed up in their Sunday best, heading for the park." He smiled as he saw the images in his memory. His smile disappeared slowly, though, and he said, "On the other 'and, there may not be a lot left of the High Street, thanks to the Germans," he said, a touch of anger creeping into his voice. "The city's a bloody mess after the bombings."

Klink felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in a whisper of fear. "Berlin is quite badly damaged as well, from what I understand," he put in, almost meekly.

"How nice," Newkirk said, his mood suddenly souring.

Klink sat in silence for a moment, reaching into his own memories of before the war. "When I was a younger man, Corporal, I used to go with my father into Berlin once a month, just to go to the theatre."

Newkirk stopped his slow burn and listened.

"It was our one time to do things without my brother, Wolfgang. We used to go to a little club where there was always a show of some sort—a song and dance, a pantomime, a small drama—and then we would go to _Der Rote Löwe_—that means The Red Lion—a quiet _Biergarten_, where we would share a drink and a small meal before coming home. It was always a very special time for me."

Newkirk nodded mutely. The idea of spending a quiet, special time with his father was only a dream for him. That Klink could hold these memories so close to his heart both touched the Englishman, and hurt him.

Klink shook his head sadly. "The theatre is gone now—as a matter of fact, I think the _Biergarten_ is, too, after the Allied bombing attacks."

Newkirk shifted uncomfortably. "Must be a few of those crimson cats around," he said, clearing his throat. "There's a Red Lion pub back in London, too."

"Really?" Klink asked, sensing some kind of mood change in the Englishman.

"Yep—used to go there myself. But it had nothing to do with a father-and-son outing, that's for sure," Newkirk said, with a bit of enthusiasm that even Klink could place as false. "It was more like a chance to get _away_ from the old man." He shook his head. "Now? I don't really know if the place is there any more either. So I guess that makes us even, Kommandant."

"What will you do when you get back there, Newkirk?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Newkirk replied. "I used to think I'd just open up a pub, you know? Put some of me back pay to work for me. But I'm not sure now. I might have a talk with Colonel Hogan—see if he thinks he'll need anyone with my talents on his staff, if he stays in England."

"You would continue working for an American?" Klink asked, somewhat amazed.

"Why not? He's been a bloody good boss so far. Can't think of anyone I'd trust more. And that's not a bad place to be."

"But what kind of work could you possibly be doing?"

"Well, with the kind of work I've been doing at Stalag 13—begging your pardon, Kommandant—I could always teach a course in calligraphy… or creative lock picking."

Klink waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I don't want to know."

"Maybe doing imitations… you know, on the stage. I understand it'll be quite funny to be German after the war…"

"Corporal, I don't want to hear it!"

Newkirk grinned slightly and stopped. "Sorry, Kommandant. The gov'nor always did say I go a little bit too far."

Klink nodded. "Colonel Hogan knows you very well!" he said, not really angry. "He seems to know everyone really well," he added thoughtfully.

"That he does, sir," Newkirk agreed. "He's a quick study is our Colonel."

"And that's why you respect him so much?" Klink asked.

"No, sir; I respect him because he's never afraid to get right in the thick of it with us. He wouldn't have us do anything he wouldn't do himself." Newkirk paused, grim. "He's paid for that kind of loyalty. Many times, sir."

Klink nodded, and slowly different situations in the camp came to him in which he himself had thought Hogan was at risk of being killed. The time they went back to England and stole a plane—which somehow never got back to Germany; the time General von Heiner decided to hold Hogan hostage at a rocket depot—and the depot was destroyed; the time Hogan knelt, with Klink and Schultz at his side, in the middle of the camp and defused an unexploded bomb dropped from an Allied plane. Then Hochstetter came into his mind. How many times had he come into camp, threatening Hogan with unpleasant methods of questioning, actually taking him back to Hammelburg to squeeze all he could out of him. Hogan had always remained calm, sometimes flippant, sometimes almost philosophical. Klink had never even dreamed that Hogan was holding more secrets than any other man in the camp… and that he had every real reason to fear the Gestapo and its tortures. But Hogan had given away nothing, not even under Hochstetter's most intensive interrogation, and so the Major kept coming, until finally the day came where he could drag Hogan away without any fear of recrimination, even if he was wrong… and he had taken full advantage of it. And even then, thinking his future was short and death was certain, Hogan had kept his secrets, and those of his men.

Klink now fully understood the loyalty of Newkirk and the others, and felt a bit overwhelmed, as his own unwitting part in this whole operation dawned on him. It was too much to think about now; he would put it aside, to consider later. He hoped he would have plenty of time to do that.

"Tell me, Newkirk, didn't you ever worry that you'd get captured and shot as a spy?"

"All the time, sir," Newkirk said almost lightly.

"Then why did you keep up Colonel Hogan's plan to sabotage the German war effort from a POW camp?"

"Because if the Colonel ended up getting caught, I wasn't going to let him go alone."


	49. Time to Move On

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Okay, heads up," Hogan said as he descended into the cellar. The men had dozed off, more out of boredom than fatigue, and Hogan's call had them sitting bolt upright. "Here's what's happening." The men gathered close; Klink wanted to hear as well, but hung back a bit, still not ready to become one of Hogan's men. "There's no place that the whole group of us can meet along the Underground route and be safe. So I've asked London to arrange for three pickups to get us all back to Headquarters—the first two with the sub, the last with a plane. Kinch, you and Carter are going to go first, and you'll take Wilson with you. I want you to be the farthest away in case of trouble. We're used to this kind of thing, but poor Joe isn't, and I don't think it's necessary to try and get him used to the way we operate at this stage. Plus he can keep an eye on Carter in case he takes a turn."

"I _won't_!" Carter insisted. "Just don't let him near me with that stuff again—it stings."

Hogan nodded. "I'm sure you'll be fine, but I'd be happier if the medic was with you after you got knocked around in the tunnel."

Carter sighed and nodded, knowing he wouldn't be able to change the Colonel's mind even if dared to try.

"Next day, it's Newkirk and Le Beau. Then finally, I'll head out with Klink. If the Kommandant slows anyone down, it's going to be me. You fellas keep going. I've got the locations of your stops along the route here. Now don't deviate from them, and stick to the schedule. Otherwise, you'll foul it up for the folks behind you. Don't delay for any reason; the sub won't wait forever. The first group of you goes out tonight. Understood?"

The men were silent, oddly so, and Hogan frowned. "Is there a problem?"

More avoidance, shifting from foot to foot, staring at the ground instead of their commanding officer. Finally Newkirk spoke up. "I think we're thinking about saying goodbye, sir," he said gently.

Hogan nodded. "I know; I've been thinking about that, too. But we've got to get out of here, or we won't have a chance to attend the Stalag 13 POW reunion in ten years' time. Right?"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Corporal Heinrich Manheim stopped for a moment to stretch and rest. He had been walking for the better part of the day, and after his gruesome discovery that morning, he was not anxious to find anything else, whether it helped the Fatherland or not. He had never met Eichberger, but it still made him angry to see him lying out there in the cold, lifeless, with that stunned look etched on his face. Americans. British. The French. Why were so many countries against Germany? Couldn't they understand that the Fatherland _needed_ to win this war? That they _had_ to get back their national pride?

_No_, Manheim thought, heading for a downed tree to sit on for a brief time to relieve his tired feet, _no they don't. Well I do._ He would have been happy to sleep, just for a few minutes, until he was due to meet his patrol partner a half a mile up the road in fourteen minutes. Unthinking, he closed his eyes and almost dizzily swayed back. He was abruptly awakened, however, when he heard as well as felt a metallic _clang_ where he thought a tree should have been. He jumped up, startled, and turned around, rifle at the ready, to face whoever or whatever had snuck up on him.

But there was no one. Manheim scanned the area, then looked more closely at the spot where only seconds ago he had been resting. He squinted in the dimness, then a look of recognition crossed his face when he realized it was not a person, but a thing that he had encountered. He moved aside some branches and brushed away some light snow that had fallen earlier today, and found himself staring at a black, shiny car. _A staff car._

"_Sie sind in diese Richtung_!" he exclaimed aloud. _They have come in this direction!_

His tiredness suddenly gone, the Corporal propped his rifle next to the fallen tree and quickly cleared off the rest of the car. With a thrill of fear, he shone his flashlight in the windows; empty, thank God. But there was no mistaking what it meant—the escaped American Colonel and possibly his companions had come through here, and they might still be in the area. "Friedrich!" he called, starting through the woods to where his patrol buddy was scouring the area himself. "Friedrich! _Schnell, schnell, Sie sind in diese Richtung!_" _We'll get that evil American and his crew yet!_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"It's a great idea, Jenny; thank you," Hogan said gently. He looked at the older lady standing beside him in the cellar. The war had been hard on her, he knew. Though he knew very little about her or Willi Erickson, Hogan was certain that this simple couple had sacrificed a lot to help the Allies. His first encounter with them had been less than auspicious: he had burst in on them, gun drawn, certain that they were responsible for a breach in the Underground escape route for prisoners directed out of Stalag 13, and they had responded by smashing a chair over his head, thinking he was a Gestapo officer trying to fool them. Both parties had been wrong, and when Hogan had come back to consciousness, he had quickly learned that the Ericksons had been duped by the women working at the pub who were supposed to be on the side of the Allies, but who were instead leading escaped prisoners straight into the hands of the Gestapo.

Hogan had always harbored a little guilt at the way he had spoken to Jenny and Willi that day, and despite their repeated protests that he had done nothing wrong, the Colonel continued to carry a soft spot for them, and had tried to keep them out of direct conflict with the Germans as much as possible. But there was no avoiding it when he and the others were taking over their home.

Jenny smiled warmly at Hogan. She had come to like him very much. He reminded her of her favorite grandson, and his gentleness with her always gave her great pleasure. "Willi and I have no use for Gestapo uniforms at the moment—I don't think I could fool anyone into thinking I am one of them!"

Hogan's eyes smiled down at her. "Not in your wildest dreams. You're too humane."

Jenny put out a hand as though to touch Hogan's face softly, but she paused thoughtfully, hand outstretched, looking at Hogan's exhaustion, and drew it back to herself. "You need nourishment," she said, clearing her throat. "You did not eat when you came home."

Hogan nodded, suddenly calmed by her obvious care. "I'll come in a minute."

Jenny nodded and went back upstairs.

Hogan looked after her for a moment, then turned his attention back to his work. "Louis, go on up and grab those Gestapo uniforms; they're in the kitchen closet. Let's see if we can't make it a little easier to get out of here." Hogan turned to Wilson. "Wilson, how's your German?"

Wilson cleared his throat. "_Ack-tong! Mack snell!_" he declared. "_Rowse, Amerikanner!_"

Hogan cringed like he was in pain, and Kinch turned away to hide a chuckle. "You'd better let Carter do the talking," Hogan decided.

Wilson adjusted his shirt in mock self-defense. "There wasn't a lot of call for German in Albuquerque, you know."

Hogan grinned, "Well it wasn't exactly the native language in Bridgeport, either," he retorted. "So don't give me any _blarney_ about not being able to learn languages, Sergeant. Just stick to all that Latin and Greek they use in medicine, okay?"

"_Yeah-vole_."

The others cried out in unison. "Stop that!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Willi had gone into the village and Jenny was straightening Wilson's German uniform when the front door burst open.

"_Hände hoch! Jetzt!_" A German soldier stamped into the kitchen, startling Jenny and making Wilson pale in fear. Another soldier stood close behind him, blocking the doorway. "_Ah_." The soldier dropped some of his menace when he saw Wilson, supposedly a member of the Gestapo, standing before him. "_Verzeihung Herr Hauptmann. Ich habe sie nicht erkannt_," he apologized, saluting.

Behind the cellar door, Hogan and his men had heard the shouting and the soldiers' entry. Hogan gestured for Carter to come forward. "Get out there and save Wilson," he whispered. "If he tries to speak German, we've had it."

Wilson was roused enough to shakily return the salute. He was almost visibly trembling, and was counting on some fancy talk from Jenny that he couldn't understand to stall the German soldier, when the cellar door swung open and Carter strode out, dressed in full Gestapo garb, and swinging his Luger like Klink's old riding crop. He barreled into the kitchen and stared hard at the German in the middle of the room. "_Warum sind Sie hier,_ _Unteroffizier_?" he barked. _Why are you here?_

Taken by surprise, Manheim could only salute hastily and look around the room, trying to understand what was going on. "_Herr Major,_ _ich suche nach den entkommenen Gefangenen von Stalag 13._ _Ich entdeckte ein Auto zugedeckt im Wald ich glaube, dass sie gestohlen haben können._" He hoped that telling the Major about the hidden car and his search for the escaped prisoners would please him. Perhaps the Major would reward him for his quick deduction that the prisoners might still be in the area.

"_Und?_" Carter looked expectantly at the Corporal, clearly not impressed.

Manheim hesitated. "_Und… ich dachte, dass sie nahe sein konnten_."

Carter scoffed, as though the idea of escaped prisoners being near an abandoned vehicle was laughable. "_Wenn sie nahe waren, warum würde ich hier sein?_" Carter bellowed, as though Manheim had offended him. Him, in this useless house, with prisoners on the loose? Manheim started to wither. He hadn't thought the Major would be here if the prisoners were somewhere else. He had just come here to search the house because it was close by and accidentally—and now, he thought, unfortunately—come across the Major obviously doing the same thing.

Carter turned his attention to Wilson, who was standing, stunned at the transformation of the mild-mannered American. "_Und warum stehen Sie dort wie ein Idiot?_ _Versteckt sich jemand in diesem Haus?_"

Wilson was mute in fear and lack of understanding. All he could make out of that last tirade was "house" and "idiot", so he tried to put on a properly cowed response. It wasn't hard. "_Nein?_" Carter practically screamed in response to Wilson's silence. Wilson shook his head. "_Ich dachte so nicht!_" Carter looked back at Manheim, and momentarily calmed himself. "_Kehren Sie zu Ihrer Abteilung zurück und berichten Sie, dass keiner hier ist. __Ich habe bereits alles gründlich durchsucht_." _Go back and report that there is no one here. I have done a thorough search._

What? Leave without looking for himself? His superior officer would have his head! "_Aber das Auto_, _Herr_ _Major_—"

Carter shrieked, "_Das Auto bedeutet gar nichts! Gehen Sie!_"

Manheim jumped at the dismissal of his discovery and the order to get out. _No wonder that poor Captain looks scared to death!_ "_Jawohl_, _Herr_ _Major.__ Bitte entschuldigen Sie, gnädige Frau_."

Jenny nodded a quiet acceptance of the Corporal's apologies. Manheim turned to the soldier who had come in with him—_Thanks for standing up for me!_ he thought sarcastically—and, saluting Wilson and Carter, backed out of the house.

When they were sure the pair had left, Wilson sagged into a chair, and Carter grinned as Hogan and the others came out of the cellar. Klink stood amazed at Carter's performance, as the others gathered around him, excited.

"That was great, Carter!" Le Beau praised him.

Hogan looked at the medic. "Are you all right, Wilson?"

Wilson nodded shakily. "Are you sure you're on _our _side, Carter?"

Carter smiled broadly. "Oh, sure! That was just an act! You don't think I'd really—" He cut himself off as he realized Wilson was asking a rhetorical question. "Sorry I yelled at ya," he said sheepishly. "I just got carried away."

"That's okay," Wilson answered. "I didn't understand most of it anyway."

Hogan approached Jenny, who was still sitting at the kitchen table. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

Jenny looked up at him and smiled. "I am fine," she answered. "We have had visitors before. And I know that this young Sergeant would not do anything that could hurt me." Carter shifted feet, taking the statement with characteristic shyness. Jenny stood up. "Willi will be back soon. I will start getting you all dinner."

"Thanks, but we'd better get going," Hogan said, shaking his head. Jenny looked at him questioningly. "Carter bought us some time, but we don't know how long it's going to be before they come back. We'd better go while we can." Hogan added softly, "It was nice while it lasted."

Jenny squeezed Hogan's arm. "You can stay," she offered quietly.

Hogan shook his head again, touched. "No," he said, "it'd be too risky. They came once, they may come again. You and Willi have put yourself in too much danger for us already." He put his other hand on top of hers. "Thank you for everything." He let his eyes linger there, then put himself back in command mode. "Get your gear together, fellas; it's time to move out."


	50. Hogan's Heroes

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Make sure you look after Carter," Hogan was saying to Wilson, as he surveyed the cellar to make sure any traces of their presence were gone. "He says he's okay, but I worry about him. He hides things."

"Sounds like he's been taking lessons from his commanding officer," Wilson answered.

Hogan stopped in his tracks and looked at the medic. "I'm fine," he said.

"Sure," Wilson replied casually. A silence passed between them. "Do you want to talk before we go?" he asked, tentatively.

Hogan sighed and, to Wilson's surprise, sat down. He said nothing for a moment, then spoke softly, staring straight ahead, looking at nothing. "I just can't help feeling I've made a mess of this whole thing."

Wilson frowned. "A mess?" he asked. He sat down next to the Colonel.

Hogan rubbed his face. "The operation was supposed to last. I failed."

"Failed?" Wilson echoed loudly. "How could you think you've failed? Look at everything you've done in the last three years—tunnels, sabotage, German war plans ruined or passed on to the Allies—not to mention the countless men whose lives you saved by dragging them out of the woods and getting them back to England! _Failed?_" Wilson said again. "We should all fail so well."

Hogan shrugged. "It's my fault we're here right now," he said simply.

Wilson paused. He knew he should have expected this; the operation was such a large part of Hogan's life that its loss would have to be grieved. And Wilson knew it was important to do so. But he didn't want Hogan thinking that years of work had been for naught, or blaming himself for something that had been bound to happen sooner or later. "Don't diminish what you accomplished," he suggested gently. "You and your men achieved the impossible."

"And we'd still be doing it if I hadn't fallen into Eichberger's trap."

Wilson shook his head. "If it wasn't that, it was going to be something else. He set it up perfectly from the very beginning. Came in when you were weakest, had information that couldn't possibly have come from someone who didn't know the workings of the Allies. You couldn't help but fall into it."

"I didn't trust him. I should have kept it that way."

"Human beings want to trust." Hogan didn't answer. "Look, with all the information we had from London, he seemed okay. You held out longer than anyone."

"Obviously I should have held out longer."

Wilson shook his head, remembering with discomfort the horrific condition Hogan had been in when he was pulled out of solitary confinement. It would almost have been more merciful if Hogan had died instead of making him go through the agony of the recovery. He would carry mental and physical scars forever. And the end of the operation, the destruction of the tunnels and the work they represented, would be one of them. "We're all human," Wilson said softly. "You were the one always telling me that the operation constantly hung by a thread. That anyone could betray you at any time."

"But I didn't think it would be _me_!" Hogan said sharply, looking directly at Wilson. "_I_ sent the boys out into the woods that night. _I_ let Eichberger know I was Papa Bear. _I _am the one who blew it—not the Germans!" Hogan covered his eyes with his hands for a moment. When he was more composed he drew down his hands and sighed. "Sorry," he said.

"Everyone got out safely," Wilson said, changing tack. "Look, Colonel. Robert." Hogan turned confused, anguished, tired eyes to the medic. "The things you and the boys did are just extraordinary. You can't go home thinking you've negated all that. It was always 'There but for the grace of God go I,' right? There was a lot of hard work involved, and a lot of luck, too. The hard work you had control over; the luck, you didn't. And the luck ran out. Don't think the work went to waste. There are a lot of happy families right now because of you and the others. Families that are complete because someone they loved came home in one piece, thanks to you. Maybe it's just time that you joined them, and made your family happy, too."

Wilson stopped talking. Hogan continued staring ahead. _Not **all** families. What about those POWs on the train? _ He could see before him a blazing inferno of railroad cars and hear the screams of tortured men as they died. He could not see the ones who had made it back with his help. Not when there were so many that hadn't, especially in the last few days. But he doubted he would ever tell anyone about that; how could he put that horrible burden on anyone else, when he couldn't face it himself? "Thanks," Hogan said finally, in almost a whisper.

Wilson nodded. "Sure," he answered quietly. He knew there was more, but he also knew it was time to stop pressing. Hogan would come forward in his own time. If he ever could. The medic stood up. "I'll be upstairs," he said. "Come on up when you're ready."

Hogan nodded. "Okay." He listened as Wilson went up the stairs to join the others. He sat for another moment, then reached into his pack and pulled out the book he had instinctively taken from his quarters when he was grabbing things to either take with them or burn. He fingered the pages, and scanned the words, looking for something to soothe his aching heart. His eye caught a phrase, and he devoured it, wishing he could see its promises fulfilled right this minute. _Give me back the joy of your salvation_, the Psalm read, _and a willing spirit sustain in me…. My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a heart contrite and humbled, O God, you will not spurn._

Hogan closed the book thoughtfully and closed his eyes. _I could use a bit of joy_, he thought. _This is about to be the hardest thing I think I've ever done._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"You fellas head straight for the first stop on the route. The rest of us will get over to the Schultzes, and then follow as we planned." Hogan glanced around the kitchen, making sure that the men had everything they came with. "Any questions?"

Klink stood near Hogan, picking up the tension in the room but not fully understanding it. Hogan's men looked around them, avoiding meeting each other's eyes, and especially Hogan's.

Hogan took a calming breath and said, "Then let's go."

"Colonel?"

_Thank God for Carter_, Hogan thought. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Well, I just—wanna say goodbye. You know, in case things go wrong."

Hogan swallowed a growing lump in his throat. "Nothing's going to go wrong," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. "We'll be together again in a week, right?"

The others agreed too readily, too loudly. Klink observed from a short distance with Wilson, beginning to see the real reason for the obvious stress in the room, which had very little to do with the necessity to escape.

"Well, I know that's the plan," Carter said over the group. "But I wanna say this anyway." Silence descended on the room. Carter accepted the attention without pride. "When I first came to Stalag 13, I was afraid I wouldn't fit in. I mean I'd never been in a POW camp before, and I didn't know what to expect. But you guys were great to me. You've been like my family." Carter paused, collecting himself. "And I just want to say thanks."

Hogan couldn't speak. Carter, the man who often ran off at the mouth like a runaway locomotive, who could find the exactly wrong thing to say at the wrong time, had spoken simply and eloquently for them all.

Newkirk was the first to respond. "I thought before I came here that I'd had my fill of brothers," he said. He shrugged. "But I was wrong, wasn't I?" The things he wanted to say, the thanks he wanted to give the men as a group for giving him a security and closeness of spirit that he had never before experienced, refused to come, stuck in the back of his throat and choking his voice. And so he just stared hard at the two men he had worked so closely with, who were about to be the first to leave, and swallowed the unexpected feeling of overwhelming sadness starting to overtake him, as the reality of the night was creeping in. _They're really going. It's really over._

"Yeah. You guys have been like my family, too," Kinch added. "Probably a little more destructive than my family, but I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Le Beau chimed in, his eyes moist. "_Oui_, me, too," is all he could say. "_Bonne chance_, Andrew. _Au revoir_, Kinch. _Soyez prudents_." Unable to stop himself, the Frenchman came forward and embraced Carter and then Kinch. The men were anything but embarrassed by the show of emotion.

Hogan nodded, signaling an end to the moment. "Come on, let's go." The others seemed to shake themselves out of their emotions. Wilson came to stand with Kinch and Carter, now getting used to being in this German uniform. Like Carter, his government-issue clothes were under the uniform. "Remember, Wilson, you and Carter are escorting Kinch back to Gestapo Headquarters for questioning. You have orders to take him directly out of the area and must not be stopped by anyone. Right?"

"Right, Colonel," Wilson replied. "He's our prisoner."

"Tomorrow night you head straight for the waiting sub. Kinch, you have the coordinates."

"Yes, sir, Colonel," Kinch answered.

"We'll give you a ten minute head start, then we'll head out the other way. Now get going, and don't pussyfoot around."

The men made their final preparations, and Hogan checked the German uniforms. He was about to push the trio out the door when Kinch turned around and faced his commanding officer.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Kinch?"

Kinch opened his mouth to say any one of the two thousand things that had coming into his mind over the last three years. He prepared himself to tell Hogan how much being a part of this operation had meant to him, how it had saved him from his own version of despair, how it had made him feel he was part of a loyal, tightly-knit team. How he had felt appreciated and valued, and secure when he was with Hogan and the others. He knew he needed to say something that would convey to Hogan just how much the Colonel's trust in him had touched him, and how Hogan's leadership itself had inspired him to do things of which he had never thought himself capable. But none of the words would lay themselves out straight in his mind, and so he paused, then did something he couldn't remember having done to Hogan in years.

He looked Hogan straight in the eye, and saluted him.

Hogan raised his chin slightly, clenching his jaw to prevent his already moist eyes from spilling over. Then, never unlocking his gaze from Kinch's, he returned the salute, then held out his hand. Kinch clasped it tightly. "I'll see you in a week," Hogan said with difficulty.

"Yes, sir," Kinch answered, still gripping Hogan's hand. "In a week."

Kinch let go of Hogan's hand and headed out the door.

Hogan watched him go, then nodded at Wilson, whom Hogan still couldn't get used to in anything but his own familiar uniform, and said, "Look after them. Sometimes they get a little excited."

Wilson let a smile raise the edges of his mouth. "So I've noticed," he said. "Colonel, thanks for everything." Wilson took in Hogan's expression, the one that spoke of pain and guilt and tiredness, and added, "Everyone will be okay. They know what they're doing." Hogan nodded mutely, still staring out after Kinch. Wilson said quietly, "You're _all_ heroes. Whether you believe it of _yourself_ or not." Hogan didn't reply. "You did good, Colonel. Don't forget that you did good."

Hogan nodded, then shook Wilson's hand and watched him head out the door. Carter brought up the rear, adjusting his small pack and making sure he had his gun, when he turned to Hogan. "Nice speech, Carter," Hogan said quietly.

"Aw, gee, Colonel, it wasn't really a speech. It was just something I needed to say. I mean no matter what happens, we're never gonna work the same way again, and I wanted people to know how I felt about 'em. You fellas have been great to work with, and I never thought I'd—"

Hogan couldn't help but smile. He shook his head. "Carter," he said, as the Sergeant threatened to continue in this vein, "at ease."

Carter looked surprised, then shrugged as a relaxed grin took over his face. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I guess I get a little carried away sometimes."

Hogan just smiled. "Thanks, Carter."

Carter looked at him curiously. "For what?"

"For reminding me we shouldn't take the war too seriously." Hogan held out his hand, and was surprised when the Sergeant hesitated about taking it. He frowned slightly. "Carter?"

"Um, I don't want to hurt your hand again," Carter replied.

"Carter, shut up and shake my hand."

Carter grinned. "You bet, boy—I mean, sir." He gripped Hogan's hand, then suddenly embraced Hogan like a brother.

Caught unawares, it took Hogan a second to realize what was happening. Then he returned Carter's hold with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "You take care of yourself, hear me?" he said with false harshness as he released Carter, trying to control his own overwhelming emotions. "If I hear you've hurt yourself, when I get to London I'm gonna kick your can."

Carter blinked away his tears and responded to the challenge. "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir." He pasted a grin on his face that Hogan knew wouldn't last long, and headed out to join the others.

Hogan, Newkirk, Le Beau and Klink watched from inside the house as the trio disappeared into the night. Then Hogan sighed and turned to the Frenchman and the Englander. "You two are next," he said with a twinge of regret. "We'd better all get out of here before the _real_ Germans catch up with us."


	51. Be It Ever So Humble

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan gingerly pressed a hand against his abdomen to counteract the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach. He winced and put the cup of coffee down on the bale of hay he had adopted as a makeshift table.

"Feeling poorly, gov'nor?"

Hogan opened his eyes widely, surprised by the voice. He had thought everyone else in the Schultzes' barn was asleep. But he couldn't sleep. Not tonight. And probably not the following night either. Some of his men were out of his reach, and out of contact, and he wouldn't know if they were safe at least until he got on a plane heading back to England. It gnawed at him, no matter how much he tried to believe what he said so confidently to the others over and over again: if anything went wrong, they would find out. They would know. Wouldn't they?

The quartet's late-night arrival at the house had certainly taken Gretchen Schultz by surprise. At Hogan's suggestion, it had been Klink who had made the approach to the lady of the house, after Hogan and his men had checked the area for any signs of unfriendly activity. But apparently her husband had not left her completely in the dark about the recent goings-on at Stalag 13, and she accepted with relative ease the idea that some men who were on the run and wanted by the powers that be, were going to be staying in her barn. She let them warm themselves by a roaring fire, making sure the children were asleep and unaware, then loaded them up with blankets and reluctantly, but with little other option, relegated them to the barn. Before she did so, however, she made sure to provide them with hot coffee and some bread and cheese to tide them over until it was safe for them to surface again.

It was a cup of this coffee that had Hogan put down when Newkirk interrupted his thoughts. He didn't answer right away, and the Corporal spoke again. "Are you all right, sir?"

Hogan nodded and turned in the dim light of the kerosene lamp toward Newkirk. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "I just getting tired of sleeping on floors and hay. Plays a bit on my back. I miss my flea-ridden, moth-infested mattress. I'm not as young as I used to be."

Newkirk shook his head as he came up to Hogan's side. "None of us are, gov'nor," he agreed. He grabbed his cup and got some coffee out of the flask.

"Can't sleep?" Hogan asked, more for something to say than to start a real conversation.

"No, sir," Newkirk answered. "Carter, Kinch and Wilson are out there, sir. I can't help thinking about them."

"They're fine," Hogan said. Had he answered too strongly? His gut thought so, and Hogan grunted as the fire inside flared again. "We'll all be together again next week."

"If you know that for sure, why is your stomach in a knot over it?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan shook his head. "It's not. I haven't exactly been eating properly the last few days, you might have noticed, that's all."

Newkirk let it pass. "I know what you mean; I miss Louis's good cooking, too."

Hogan smiled wryly and shook his head. _Imagine missing gourmet cooking… at a POW camp_. "We'll have to get him to cook us one big, fine meal when we get to London. We didn't exactly have time for a feast when we left Stalag 13."

"No, but we sure lit a bit enough fire for a nice pot roast!"

Movement from behind them made them both turn around. Le Beau was getting up. And, leaving his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he reached out for a cup of coffee. "Well, it is not the best _café_, but it will do for now," he said simply. Hogan and Newkirk just watched him. "What?" Le Beau asked as he took a sip and sat down. "I was cold," he offered in explanation.

"Yeah, me, too," Newkirk said.

"It will be nice to get someplace warm again."

"You won't find England very warm," Newkirk quipped. "Still," he said, looking around him, "it's better than here." He looked at Le Beau. "Bet you're looking forward to getting back to gay _Paree_."

Le Beau nodded, happy with the thought of home. "_Oui_, Pierre, I am. I will stay in England while I have to, but then it's back to _la France_ for me."

"I'm ready to just go sit in front of a warm fire with a Yorkshire pudding and a steak and kidney pie," Newkirk said. "Whenever they let me do that, that is." He looked at Hogan. "What about you, sir? After London's through with us?"

Hogan shrugged thoughtfully. "I think the English got a lot of mileage out of the Lend-Lease Agreement with me," he said, letting a small smile touch his lips. "I like London, but I don't think you'll be able to get me back home fast enough."

Newkirk nodded. "It's ironic, isn't it?" he said to no one in particular. "Here we are, three men ready to head to three different countries… and still I can't see us being anything but together. Not to mention the Yanks we just sent ahead of us," he said.

Hogan and Le Beau had no response. Newkirk was absolutely right.

Another voice spoke up. "Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" Klink asked, his voice airy with sleep. He got up and joined the group at the hay bale, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry to wake you, Kommandant," Hogan said. "We're just talking about going home after Allied High Command decides they're done with us."

Klink nodded. "That may be a long time for me," he said quietly.

Hogan felt a passing twinge of sympathy. "It won't be as easy for you," he admitted. "But when the war is over, you can come back to Germany. And as a prisoner of war, you can say you were taken against your will. No one will hold anything against you."

"What will I be coming home to?" Klink asked. "A country ruined by a madman, overrun by the enemy, and left with its spirit destroyed. Again."

Hogan looked at the ground, uncomfortable with the baseless feeling of guilt tightening its grip on his chest and squeezing even harder than the existing guilt that had taken hold of him as soon as he realized that Eichberger wasn't Black Forest. It made him nearly short of breath, so strong was its hold. He sat down. "War isn't nice," was all he said. It was aimed at no one, but everyone felt its deepest meaning.

It was a long time before anyone got to sleep that night.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Same orders as for Carter and Kinch," Hogan said the next evening, as Le Beau and Newkirk stood before him, covered in dirt and soot and ready to move out. "You go to the first stopping point, you wait until tomorrow, the sub comes for you. No waiting, no turning back."

"Right, Colonel," Newkirk said. He looked at Hogan's face and for the first time in a week he found he could say what he wanted to. "It's been a privilege to serve with you, sir. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Hogan nodded, touched. Newkirk was not one for expressing his feelings. "Same goes for me," he said. His throat felt tight. That must be what was making his eyes water, he tried to believe; it had nothing to do with emotion. Nothing. Nothing to do with the fact that when Newkirk and Le Beau left, that he would have no contact with any of his men until next week. No communication with the men with whom he had shared the last three years of his life; upon whom his own life had sometimes depended; whom he would have fought to the death to protect; with Carter, Kinch, Newkirk, and Le Beau. His comrades. His friends.

His brothers.

All going well, they would all be together again in a matter of days. But there was always uncertainty in war, and as men on the run there was never a guarantee that something wouldn't go wrong. Any one of them could meet an untimely demise, and if that happened, Hogan knew he would feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and he wasn't sure when the feeling would go away, if it ever did.

"When we get to London, I'll take you to all the best places," Newkirk said, in a voice he didn't recognize as his own.

"I thought you weren't allowed into the best places," Hogan reminded him with a raised eyebrow.

"I didn't say we'd go into them; I said I'd take you to them." Newkirk winked.

Hogan shook his head and smiled. "Get going. And do what you're told."

"Righto, gov'nor." He wanted to salute Hogan, to show him the kind of respect that Kinch had, that he thought Hogan deserved. But the gesture didn't feel right to him. So he simply held out his hand and lowered his eyes. "I look forward to causing trouble with you again, sir."

Hogan accepted the gesture and shook Newkirk's outstretched hand. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

Newkirk raised his eyes to meet Hogan's, but the Colonel found he could say no more. He nodded briefly, and Newkirk took the opportunity to pull himself away from emotions he had never learned to be comfortable with on the surface: caring, respect, and true admiration. He offered a sloppy salute that Hogan returned in like manner, and then nodded to Klink, who stood by again in silence. "I'll meet you outside, mate," he said softly to Le Beau, then he went out of the barn and into the darkness.

"Colonel?" Le Beau began.

Hogan felt his guts churning as he faced the Corporal. Of all the men under his command, somehow Louis had been the one who most accurately sensed the Colonel's emotional states, whether confident or frightened, steady or uncertain. He was the one Hogan couldn't hide from, even in the solitude of his own office, because even his holing up in his quarters spoke volumes to the man. The only way to cope with this, Hogan thought, was to face it before it began. "Louis, thanks for everything," Hogan started, holding out his hand. He noticed Le Beau's eyes were bright with unshed tears, and blinked to keep his own at bay. "I'd have gone crazy without you all beside me."

"Thank you for letting me continue to fight, Colonel," Le Beau said. He looked at Hogan's outstretched hand. "I am sorry, Colonel. I am French; that is not enough of a way to say _merci_ to someone who has meant so much to me."

Le Beau offered Hogan one of the crispest, most patriotic salutes the Colonel had ever seen. And once Hogan returned it with pride in his men and their contribution to the Allied war effort, Le Beau gripped Hogan by the arms and placed a kiss on each of his cheeks. "_Souvenez-vous de moi_," he said quietly. _Remember me_. "Because I will never forget you."

Hogan nodded, unable to speak. "_Je prie pour Dieu pour vous bénir_," Louis continued.

"He already _has_ blessed me, Louis," Hogan managed through the tiny opening left in his constricted voice box. "He sent me all of you."

Louis nodded, and smiled as a tear escaped and slid down his dirty cheek. Then he turned without a word and left the barn.

Hogan watched the door close on the last of his men and, sinking to the nearest hay bale, closed his eyes, emotionally exhausted. All feelings drained out of him, he sat weakly, concentrating only on taking deep breaths and trying to stop the room from spinning around him.

The barn was quiet except for the sound of Hogan's breathing and the occasional rustling of hay when one of the animals shifted in its slumber. Then, quietly, Klink said, "They will be all right, you know, Hogan."

Hogan opened his eyes and looked tiredly at the German officer. "What makes you say that?" he asked eventually.

Klink didn't answer directly. "I have watched your men as they said goodbye, Colonel Hogan. They have an enormous amount of respect for you."

"I have an enormous amount of respect for _them_."

"They are heroes. And what's more they are _your_ heroes." Klink shook his head in wonderment. "They have worked as hard as they have out of respect for you. That is quite clear."

Hogan said nothing, willing each of his men to safety. _If wishes could only be guaranteed to come true…_ "They're good men. All of them."

"Then they won't take any chances on getting on your bad side by getting themselves shot."

Hogan raised his eyebrows in surprise at Klink's observation.

"I owe you a lot myself, Hogan. If it were not for you, I would probably be dead. A victim of my own country's political system."

"If it weren't for me, you probably wouldn't have gotten in the trouble you were in, in the first place."

Klink shrugged. "Possibly. But it gave me a chance to realize that I am still human, Hogan. That I could not do the merciless thing that the Fuhrer was asking us to do."

Hogan nodded and stared out toward the barn door. _It will be our turn next. _He ran his hands over his face, feeling more tired than he had in weeks. He sighed, hoping that sleep would beckon quickly, so that he and Klink could elude any pursuers and follow the others along the escape route soon, and he could confirm that the men who meant so much to him were safe in Allied hands again.

"Hogan," Klink said into the silence. "I am scared."

Hogan blinked calmly and looked at Klink, expressionless.

Klink simply looked back, unashamed. "England is not like Germany."

Hogan nodded, understanding. "It's not like Connecticut either. But for the time being it's where we need to be."

Klink persisted. "I wonder how Germany will change because of the war," he said. "Will I be able to recognize my home, Hogan, if the Allies win?"

Hogan's mind drifted. Lush fields, neatly mowed lawns fronted by clean, tree-lined streets, old white church steeples piercing the sky, a girl whom he could love with the intensity of youth. That had been home. But there was more to it, so much more. Family, friends, laughter and warmth. A sharing of beliefs and care. That was home. A support system when the world let you down. A loyalty that burned with such intensity as to blot out any disappointing or devastating event. That was home.

Hogan could almost reach out and touch the men he had worked with in the last three years. He could see their faces, hear their voices, feel their healing constancy and devotion. No matter what the physical surroundings, their acceptance and comfort enveloped him, and Hogan sensed he would feel that presence always. That was home, too. He nodded and allowed himself to smile gently. "You'll know it when you're there, Kommandant," Hogan finally replied. "There's no place like home."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Author's note: For those wondering why I have used Kinch at the end of the operation instead of Baker: I prefer to use Kinch because I subscribe to the theory stated by several Hogan's Heroes cast members-- that if Ivan Dixon had known there would be only one more season after he left, he might have held out until the end. Thanks to all for your support and feedback. LJG


End file.
